AN  ORCHARD  PRINCESS 

By 
RALPH  HENRY  BARBOUR 


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This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
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DATE                    OVT 
DUE                       RET' 

DATE                     RFT 
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► 

Form  No.  513 

AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


N 


^fi't  mcshTSm^  TL*« 


SHE    LET    THE    HAND    WITH    THE    1IKCSII     FALL    DEJECTEDLY 

Page  is 


AN   ORCHARD 
PRINCESS 


BY 


RALPH    HENRY    BARBOUR 

AUTHOR     OF     "KITTY     OF    THE     ROSES,"     ETC. 

With  Illustrations  by 
JAMES   MONTGOMERY   FLAGG 


PHILADELPHIA     AND     LONDON 
J.     B.     LIPPINCOTT      COMPANY 

1905 


Copyright,  1905 
By  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 


Published  September,  1905 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 
J.  B.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia,  U.S.A. 


TO 

M.  L.  B. 


"  The  gold  of  the  April  sunshine, 
The  sweet  of  the  April  breeze, 
The  bluebird's  note  in  yonder  wood, 

The  droning  of  the  bees; 
The  far  hills'  distant  outline — 
All  tender  blues  and  grays — 
The  April  joy  of  the  blossoming  world, 
And  the  charm  of  April  days." 

Eleanor  C.  Hull. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

She  let  the  hand  with  the  brush  fall 
dejectedly    Frontispiece 

"That's  a  silly  tune,"  said  Miles....     41 

She    arose    quickly    and    crossed    the 
grass   to   him 148 

"  do    you    know    what    you've    done  v 

she    asked 215 


AN  ORCHARD  PRINCESS 


As  Miles  Fallon  left  the  cottage, 
loitered  down  the  red  brick  walk,  moist 
with  the  morning  dew,  and  stepped 
into  the  road,  he  looked  undecidedly 
east  and  west.  Eastward  was  civiliza- 
tion— and  the  Misses  Ruggles  potter- 
ing about  their  little  garden;  west- 
ward lay  a  deserted  country  road 
bright  with  sunlight  and  spring  green- 
ery. Miles  turned  westward.  So  did 
Bistre. 

Bistre  was  a  ferocious-looking  white 

9 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


bull-dog  with  a  brown  spot  over  half 
his  face  and  a  tail  which,  although  but 
a  scant  two  inches  long,  could  be  at 
times  remarkably  expressive.  This 
was  one  of  the  times.  Trotting  along 
at  the  man's  side,  Bistre  threatened 
to  wag  that  ridiculous  stump  out  of 
existence. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Miles,  sooth- 
ingly. "Please  don't  forget  in  your 
enthusiasm  that  we  are  seeking  adven- 
ture, you  and  I.  Kindly  bear  in  mind 
the  fact  that  I  am  mounted  upon  my 
milk-white  charger  and,  with  lance  in 
rest,  am  caracoling  along  the  highway 
in  search  of  an  imprisoned  princess. 
As  you're  not  particularly  imagina- 
tive, perhaps  you'd  better  remain  just 
a  dog,  though  I  had  thought  of  having 
you  for  a  squire.  And,  look  here,  Bis- 
tre, if  you  see  the  Princess  and  I  don't, 
you  must  bark;    not  too  fiercely,  you 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINC 

understand,  for  princesses  are  a  *bi 
timid,  I  believe,  but  just  loud  enough 
to  attract  my  attention.    You  sdbeV* 

Bistre  wagged  his  tail  comprehend- 
ingly  and  trotted  ahead. 

"Do  you  know,"  continued  Miles, 
thoughtfully,  "I  fancy  it  wouldn't  be 
a  bad  thing  for  me  if  I  should  find  a 
princess?  There's  no  doubt  but  that  I 
ought  to  marry  and  settle  down.  It's 
really  time.  The  first  thing  I  know  I'll 
have  gray  hairs  and  a  high,  thoughtful 
forehead,  and  then  even  the  scullery 
maid,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Princess, 
won't  cast  a  look  at  me.  I  can  afford 
to  marry,  too;  I  haven't  that  excuse 
any  longer.  But,  of  course,  the  Prin- 
cess mustn't  have  too  expensive 
tastes ;  a  comfortable  house  outside  of 
town,  now,  with  a  horse  or  two,  or  a 
'bubble,'  would  be  quite  within  our 
means.     We  could  go  up  to  the  city 

11 


once  in/a  while  for  a  month  or  so,  an( 
we  could  travel  a  bit.  I  wonder  ii 
princesses  like  to  travel?  Those  in 
the  story-books  are  usually  depicted 
sitting  in  front  of  a  window  doing  em- 
broidery. Such  a  wife  would  be  eco- 
nomical, Bistre,  but  dull,  dre'ful  dull! 
I  think  when  we  find  the  Princess  we'll 
just  ask  her  first  of  all,  right  off  the 
handle,  so  to  speak,  whether  she  em- 
broiders. If  she  does" — he  shook  his 
head  sadly — "if  she  does,  we'll  just 
pass  on  and  look  for  another  one.  You 
see,  I  don't  know  Battenberg  from  a 
poached  egg,  and  after  awhile  convex 
ation  would  be  almost  certain  to  lag."': 
He  went  on  silently  for  a  ways. 
Then  a  grass-grown  lane  turned 
stealthily  off  from  the  road  and  strag- 
gled between  vine-covered  stone  walls 
along  the  edge  of  an  apple  orchard, 
and  unconsciously  his  steps  followed 

12 


V    > 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

Bistre's.    A  cloud  of  tiny  yellow  U 
terflies  arose  in  front  of  him  and  set- 
tled   to    earth    again    when    he    had 
passed.    A  bluebird  sang  lustily  on  a 
nearby  tree,  observing  the  passer  curi- 
ously with  head  held  perkily  on  one 
side.    Presently  the  lane  began  to  as- 
cend  the  hill,  and  Miles 's  limbs  pro- 
tested lazily.     Seating  himself  on  a 
wall  where  the  top  stones  had  hospi- 
tably fallen  into  the  orchard,  he  found 
his  pipe  and  pouch  and  began  leisurely 
to  fill  the  blackened  bowl,  while  his 
gaze  wandered  idly  over  the  meadow 
the  curving  road,  and  the  line  of  co 
tages  basking  in  the  morning  sunlight 
Bistre,  after  nosing  about  along  the 
walls  in  half-hearted  search  for  mice' 
or  squirrels,  sank  down  at  the  mari 
feet  and  observed  him  questioningly 
with  the  tip  of  his  pink  tongue  showing 
between  his  teeth.    When  the  pipe  was 

13 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


lighted,  Miles  took  a  knee  into  his 
hands  and  continued  the  one-sided 
conversation. 

"There  might  be  little  princes  and 
princesses,  too,"  he  said.  "I  should 
like  that,  Bistre.  I  believe  I  am  natu- 
rally domestic.  To  be  sure,  it  never 
occurred  to  me  before,  but  there's 
something  about — the  air — the — the — 

ang  it,  I  don't  know  what  it  is !  But 
whatever  it  is,  old  chap,  it  has  set  me 
thinking  along  unusual  lines;  think- 
ing, in  fact,  of  subjects  which  I  am  not 
/certain  it  is  proper  for  a  bachelor  to 
consider.  I  wonder  if  you  ever  felt  the 
way  I  do  this  morning!  Did  you  ever 
think,  Bistre,  that  you'd  like  to  have 
a  home  and  a  wife  and  children  and 
— and  a  Tabby  cat!  There,  don't  get 
excited !  There 's  no  cat  around  here ; 
I  just  mentioned  a  supposititious  one. 
What    are    you    looking    so    cynical 

14 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINC 

about  ?  I  know ;  you've  had  a  wife  and 
children,  you  rascal !  Where  are  thev  ? 
How  comes  it  you're  gallivanting 
around  up  here  in  the  role  of  a  bache- 
lor? Bistre,  I  fear  you're  a  gay  dog! 
There's  a  look — an  expression " 

Miles  shook  his  head  disapprov- 
ingly. Bistre,  aroused  from  his  leth- 
argy by  the  mention  of  "cat,"  scram- 
bled heavily  over  the  wall  and 
wandered  away  amongst  the  trees. 
Once  he  had  encountered  a  cat  in  an 
apple-tree ;  the  recollection  brought  a 
sparkle  of  pleasure  to  his  brown  eyes ; 
there  was  no  harm  in  having  a  look; 
you  never  could  tell  about  cats ! 

Presently  Miles,  lost  in  his  thoughts, 
heard  a  low  growl.  He  took  his  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  his  knee  from  his 
hands,  and  looked  around.  Bistre  was 
not  in  sight.  In  the  act  of  returning 
the  pipe  again  he  heard  a  louder  growl 

15 


J!?-  \ 


N    ORCHARD    PRINCESS- 


from  behind  him,  a  growl  that  was  hal 
a  bark  and  half  a  throaty  gurgles- 
growl  plainly  meant  to  convey  a  warn- 
ing.   Miles  turned  again. 

''Wonder  what  the  silly  beast  has 
found?"  he  muttered.  "Perhaps — 
why,  of  course,  it's  the  Princess !" 

Smiling  whimsically,  he  lowered 
himself  cautiously  over  the  wall  and 
bent  so  that  he  could  look  under  the 
low-hanging  clusters  of  pink  blossoms. 
A  dozen  yards  away  stood  the  dog,  his 
head  turned  questioningly  toward  the 
man  and  his  ridiculous  stump  wag- 
ging excitedly.  Miles  crept  toward 
him.  As  he  went,  dodging  the  sprays 
of  bloom,  into  the  deep  droning  of  the 
bees  and  the  chattering  of  the  birds 
crept  a  new  note,  the  musical  tinkling 
of  running  water.  The  ground  sloped 
before  him,  and  when  he  stood  at  Bis- 
tre's  side  he  found  himself  looking 

16 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


down  into  a  little  glade  through  which 
a  tiny  brook  tumbled.  Beyond  it  the 
orchard  began  again ;  but  here  was  an 
implanted  space  of  lush  grass  and 
forget-me-nots  and  violets  and- 
and 

Miles  turned  wonderingly  to  the 
dog. 

' '  The  Princess ! "  he  whispered. 

Bistre  wagged  his  tail  in  a  way 
which  said  as  plainly  as  you  like,  ''Of 
course;  who  else?" 

At  a  little  distance,  just  beyond  the 
blossom-laden  branches  of  an  apple- 
tree,  stood  an  easel,  from  the  top  of 
which  hung  a  blue  sun-bonnet.  On  the 
easel  was  a  canvas,  a  confused  blur  of 
pink  and  green.  Before  the  canvas, 
brush  in  hand,  sat  a  girl.  The  shadows 
had  travelled  eastward  since  she  had 
placed  her  stool,  and  a  flood  of  sun- 
light was  upon  her,  tingeing  her  white 

2  17 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


gown  with  warm  tones,  dyeing  her 
cheek  with  a  deeper  pink,  and  adding 
new  glory  to  the  gold  of  her  hair. 
From  where  Miles  stood  and  silently 
gazed  his  fill  the  girl's  face  was  sil- 
houetted softly  against  the  shadowed 
greenery  beyond.  She  was  quite 
young, — perhaps  twenty-one  or  two, 
— slender,  radiant  with  youth  and 
1th,  and  beautiful  beyond  any  pic- 
ured  princess  of  Miles 's  acquaint- 
ance. She  wore  a  white  skirt  and 
waist,  and  a  blue  painting  apron  was 
thrown  across  her  lap  as  she  sat. 
Once  while  he  looked  she  let  the  hand 
with  the  brush  fall  dejectedly  and 
gazed  for  a  moment  at  the  canvas 
before  her;  he  could  see  the  little 
frown  creep  across  the  white  forehead. 
Then  the  brush  sought  the  vivid  pal- 
ette again,  the  golden  head  bent  to- 
ward the  easel,  and  the  work  went  on. 

18 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


' '  A  princess  indeed ! ' '  thought 
Miles.  "A  princess  with  hair  like 
the  gold  of  sunlight  and  cheeks  like 
the  blossoms  above  her !  An  Orchard 
Princess!"  He  experienced  a  feeling 
of  exultation  seemingly  out  of  propor- 
tion to  the  mere  finding  of  a  girl  paint- 
ing a  view  of  pink  blossoms  and  green, 
sunlit  foliage.  He  felt  as  though 
something  which  all  his  life  had  been 
foredoomed  to  happen  had  suddenly 
come  to  pass.  There  was  no  under- 
standing just  what  he  did  feel,  and  he 
didn't  try.  He  merely  stood  there 
and  looked  and  looked,  until  pres- 
ently Bistre,  perhaps  finding  the  in- 
action irksome,  growled  again.  It 
wasn't  a  savage  growl,  but  the  girl 
at  the  easel  heard  it  and  turned  and 
saw  them. 

Miles  stepped  forth  from  conceal- 
ment.   So  did  Bistre. 

19 


In  spite  of  the  fact  that  Miles  Fallon 
had  spent  many  of  his  thirty-one  years 
in  running  about  the  country,  he  had 
received  an  average  education.  That 
is,  he  had  struggled  through  college, — 
"without,"  as  he  said,  "having  been 
branded  A.B.  or  A.M.," — and  had  sub- 
sequently taken  a  brief  post-graduate 
course  in  what  he  called  "Society  1." 
Subsequently,  and  perhaps  as  a  pro- 
test against  what  he  learned  in  that 
course,  he  went  to  Arizona  and  min- 
gled with  the  alkali  and  adobe.  Be- 
sides supplying  him  with  material  for 
the  novels  which  had  made  him  well 
known,   his   vears   in   the   West   and 

20 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS  f 

Southwest  had  been  rather  more  J&F 
cational  than  his  college  life.     Wat- 
and  he  realized  the  fact  with  regret- 
neither  his  college,  social,  nor  Wester 
education  had  prepared  him  for  an 
emergency  such  as  the  present   one. 
Xone  of  his  courses  had  instructed  him 
as  to  the  proper  words  with  which  to 
address  a  strange  young  lady  discov- 
ered painting  a  landscape  under  an 
apple-tree ! 

However,  there  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  railing  at  the  deficiencies  o 
his  education.     Having  removed  his. 
cap  as  a  preliminary,  he  sought  co 
fusedly  about  in  his  mind  for  words 
And  he  found  them  at  last ! 

' '  I  hope  we  have  not  alarmed  you  ? 

That  was  what  he  was  going  to  s 
But  he  never  said  it.    For,  just  as  he 
had    composed    his    features    into 
proper  expression  of  courteous  con 

21 


k  \  ft 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


<*rs&£< 


cern  and  had  opened  his  mouth  to  emit 
the  brilliant  remark,  he  observed  that 
the  girl  had  turned  her  head  away  and 
was  once  more  unconcernedly  paint- 
ing! By  that  time,  at  least  two  pre- 
cious seconds  having  elapsed,  he  was 
but  twenty  feet  away  from  her,  and 
the  psychological  moment  had  passed. 
Plainly   they  had   not   alarmed   her; 

jerefore  to  ask  would  be  nonsensical. 

ither  he  must  think  of  another  re- 
mark, and  that  quickly,  or  he  must 
retreat.  If  he  kept  on  in  his  present 
course  he  would  run  straight  into  the 
easel  and  upset  it;  and  while  that 
would  undoubtedly  "break  the  ice,"  it 
might  not  prove  the  happiest  sort  of 
introduction!  Weakly  he  swerved 
aside  and  proceeded  on  a  course  which 
would  take  him  behind  her.  It  would 
also  take  him  to  the  brook,  and  he  saw 
with   misgiving   that   the   ground   on 

22 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCES 

either  side  of  the  little  stream  was  wet 
and  marshy.  He  would  cut  a  sorrv 
figure  indeed  as  he  went  floundering 
up  to  his  ankles  in  water.  But  to  turn 
back  was  not  to  be  thought  of ;  better 
to  perish.,  to  drown  miserably  before 
her  eyes,  than  to  retrace  his  steps  and 
virtually  confess  that  he  had  been  spy- 
ing on  her.  He  went  heroically  on. 
Bistre  heroically  followed. 

And  then,  at  the  last  moment,  with 
one  foot  squishing  down  into  a  clump 
of  forget-me-nots,  he  turned  and  stole 
a  glance  at  the  girl — and  knew  he  was 
saved!  Her  back  was  toward  him, 
but  something — perhaps  the  half- 
hearted way  in  which  she  dabbed  a 
brush  onto  a  region  of  the  palette 
where  there  was  no  paint,  perhaps  the 
strained  set  of  her  bent  head — told 
him  that  she  was  not  so  indifferent  to 
his  fate  as  she  would  have  it  appear; 

23 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


that,  in  short,  she  was  waiting,  with 
what  emotions  he  could  not  tell,  to 
hear  his  feet  floundering  in  the  grassy 
morass.  But  he  saw  more  than  the 
girl's  back,  and  he  drew  away  from 
the  brink,  stumbled  over  Bistre,  who 
had  followed  him  faithfully  and 
closely  into  danger,  and,  with  one  foot 
gurgling  musically  in  its  wet  shoe, 
drew  near  the  girl.  Taking  off  his  cap 
again,  he  bowed  politely  to  the  back  of 
a  white  shirt-waist. 

Then  he  coughed  apologetically. 

The  girl  looked  around  over  her 
shoulder  quite  calmly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said, 
"but  there's  a  large  green  cater- 
pillar  " 

Up  jumped  the  girl,  over  went  the 
stool,  away  went  the  brush. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  faintly. 
V  Where?" 

24 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

"Viewed  transversely,  about  in  the 
centre  of  your  back, ' '  replied  Miles. 

"Oh!"  It  was  a  shuddering  excla- 
mation this  time,  and  it  went  to  his 
heart.      She    whisked    about,    and — 

"Won't  you  please — please !"  she 

stammered. 

He  stepped  gallantly  to  the  rescue, 
secured  the  enemy  between  thumb  and 
forefinger,  and  tossed  him  into  the 
brook.  Bistre  trotted  after  to  inves- 
tigate. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl.  "I — 
I'm  so  glad  you  saw  it !" 

"So  am  I,"  answered  Miles,  enthu- 
siastically. 

"I  can't  bear  caterpillars,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  shudder.  "They're  so 
— so  creepy ! ' ' 

"They  are,"  responded  Miles. 
He  'd  have  agreed  to  anything,  I  think. 
He  rescued  the  brush  from  the  inter- 

25 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


ested  attention  of  a  bumble-bee,  picked 
up  the  stool,  and  then  allowed  himself 
a  look  at  the  canvas.  The  girl,  having 
deftly  repaired  imaginary  injury  to 
her  hair  and  accepted  the  recovered 
paint-brush,  shot  little  curious  glances 
at  him. 

What  she  saw  could  scarcely  have 
been  displeasing.  He  was  tall,  erect, 
broad  of  shoulder,  and  deep  of  chest. 
Despite  the  fact  that  it  was  as  yet  but 
the  last  week  of  April,  his  skin  was 
tanned  to  a  becoming  shade  of  brown. 
He  was  a  good-looking  chap,  although 
his  features  boasted  no  great  regular- 
ity. Perhaps  his  mouth,  scarcely  hid- 
den by  a  closely  trimmed  brown  mous- 
tache, and  his  eyes,  grayish  blue, 
honest  and  kindlv,  were  accountable 
for  his  attractiveness.  The  eyes  had 
a  whimsical  twinkle  within  them,  even 
when  the  mouth  was  grave,  that  gave 

26 


^/"AN   ORCH/ 


•> 


the  face  an  expression  of  humor.  For; 
the  rest,  his  short  brown  hair  was  a 
trifle  wavy  under  his  cloth  cap,  and 
his  movements,  so  slow  and  deliberate 
as  to  almost  seem  lazy,  could  not  dis- 
guise the  muscular  strength  of  the 
well-built  body.  So  long  he  stared 
silently  at  the  picture  that  at  length 
she  was  moved  to  apology. 

"It  hasn't  gone  very  well  this  morn- 
ing," she  said,  hurriedly.  "I — I  am 
quite  hopeless  about  it." 

' '  Well ! ' '  He  turned  to  her  in  gen- 
uine astonishment.  "It  seems  fairly 
wonderful  to  me!  It  reminds  me 
of- 


n 


"Of  what?"  she  asked,  smilingly,  as 
he  paused. 

1 '  Of — well,  just  a  bit  of  verse  I  read 
somewhere."  He  hadn't  quoted 
poetry  since  he  was  a  school-boy,  he 
thought,  and  the  idea  of  doing  so  now 


it 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


embarrassed  him.  ' '  It  was  just  a  little 
thing,  but  somehow  it  stuck ;  and  your 
picture  brought  it  back." 

"Won't  you  tell  it  to  me?"  she 
asked,  eagerly. 

"I'm  afraid  it  won't  sound  like 
much,"  he  answered,  "but 


"  The  gold  of  the  April  sunshine, 

The  sweet  of  the  April  breeze, 
The  bluebird's  note  in  yonder  wood, 

The  droning'  of  the  bees; 
The  far  hills'  distant  outline — - 

All  tender  blues  and  grays- 
The  April  joy  of  the  blossoming  world, 

And  the  charm  of  Api'il  days." 


' '  Thank  you,  ' '  she  said.  "  It  is  very 
sweet.  And — and  my  canYas  really 
made  you  think  of  those  lines?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  glad;  you — you've  encour- 
aged  me    so   much!      I   was   feeling 

23 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


rather  out  of  sorts  with  it  before  you 
— before  the  caterpillar  came." 

"Then  you  owe  something  to  the 
caterpillar  after  all.  I  doubt  if  he 
really  deserved  his  banishment. ' : 

"I  think  I  owe  it  rather  to  you," 
she  laughed.  "I  shall  go  ahead  now 
and  feel  that  it's  worth  finishing." 

' '  That 's  right ;  forget  your  discour- 
agement ;  forget  everything  that  hap- 
pened B.  C." 

"B.  C.f"  she  repeated,  politely  in- 
quiring. 

"Before  the  Caterpillar,"  he  an- 
swered, gravely. 

"Oh!"  She  laughed  softly  and 
seated  herself  again  at  the  easel.  Bis- 
tre, having  failed  in  his  search,  re- 
turned and  sniffed  courteously  at  her 
gown.  She  turned  and  patted  his  flat 
head  doubtfully 

asked. 

29 


"Is  he  gentle?"  she 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

"Absolutely,"  he  replied.  "In 
fact,  he  is  something  of  a  poseur.  He 
tries  his  hardest  to  look  desperate  and 
savage,  and  succeeds  fairly  well,  but 
in  reality  he  is  the  gentlest  dog  that 
ever  ran  from  a  cat." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Bistre,  so  called  because  of  the 
brown  spot  which  disfigures  his  coun- 
tenance, and  which  his  master  con- 
siders a  badge  of  beauty. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  then  he  is  not  }Tour  dog  ? ' ' 

"No;  he  belongs  to  Mr.  Brough.  I 
am  staying  with  him — that  is,  with 
Mr.  Brough." 

"Really?"  Miles  thought  she  ob- 
served him  with  a  sudden  access  of 
interest  and  felt  a  qualm  of  jealousy ; 
he  wondered  if  she  knew  Hunter. 
"You're  a  nice  dog,"  she  remarked, 
stroking  Bistre's  beauty  spot.  Bistre 
closed  his  eyes  and  looked  absolutely 


* 


'  AN   ORCHARD   PRINi^ 


silly.    "But  I  must  get  to  work,"«:,sh 
added,  aud  turned  resolutely  to  her 
canvas.    Miles  took  it  as  a  dismissal. 

"I  suppose  you  will  hardly  finish  it 
this  morning?"  he  asked.  She  shook 
her  head. 

"Xo,  it  will  take  another  day,"  she 
answered. 

' '  Then  perhaps  I  may  be  permitted 
to  see  it  again — when  it  is  further 
along?"  he  suggested. 

"Certainly,  if  you  would  like  to," 
she  answered  readily,  calmly.  He 
almost  wished  she  wasn't  quite  so  self- 
possessed.  He  didn't  feel  self-pos- 
sessed, not  the  least  in  the  world ;  and 
why  should  she? 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered,  "I 
should  like  to.    Good-morning." 

"Good-morning,"  she  replied,  and 
gave  him  the  briefest  sort  of  a  per- 
functory little  smile,  turning  to  her 

31 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


canvas  once  more  and  apparently  dis- 
missing him  utterly  from  her  mind. 

"Come  on,  Bistre,"  said  Miles, 
glumly. 

Man  and  dog  climbed  the  little  slope 
again  and  disappeared  from  sight 
amongst  the  apple-trees.  A  moment 
passed.  The  brook  rippled  and  sang, 
the  bees  droned  from  the  clustered 
blossoms,  and  overhead  a  lark,  wing- 
ing across  the  blue,  filled  the  world  for 
a  space  with  limpid  melody.  Then, 
slowly,  the  girl  at  the  easel  lifted  her 
head  and,  turning,  looked  up  the  slope. 


Ill 


Maple  Green  begins  at  Hunter 
Brough's  studio  and  ends  at  the  Maple 
Tree  Inn,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 
In  point  of  fact,  it  is  only  a  string  of 
summer  studios  lining"  one  side  of  a 
well-kept  country  road  in  the  Con- 
necticut hills.  On  the  other  side  lie 
fields  and  orchards,  squared  and 
quadrangled  by  stone  walls,  and 
curving  concavely  upward  and  away 
into  a  green  ridge.  Here  and  there, 
always  at  the  end  of  a  narrow  lane 
leading  from  the  highway,  a  farm- 
house peers  tranquilly  forth  upon 
the  little  studios  from  a  nest  of 
trees,  like  a  dignified  mother  lien 
keeping  a  watchful  eye  upon  a  brood 
of  flighty  chickens. 

And  to  the  square-cornered,  rigidly 
proper     farm-houses     those     studios 
must     look     flighty     enough, 
strange  roofs,  dipping  and  slanting  in 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


all  directions  !  Such  absurd  windows 
of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  stuck  in  such 
absurd  places!  Such  queer  little 
stoops  and  porches  set  impertinently 
in  the  most  unlikely  spots !  And  then 
the  materials  used — stone,  brick,  shin- 
ies, stucco !  Not  a  respectable  clap- 
board from  one  end  of  the  community 
to  the  other !  (The  farm-houses,  being 
a  locality  where  stone  in  any  quan- 
tity may  be  had  for  the  lifting,  are, 
naturally  enough,  built  of  wood.)  But 
the  farm-houses  and  their  occupants 
have  long  since  stopped  marvelling  at 
the  strange  studios  and  their  stranger 
denizens ;  one  can  get  used  to  any- 
thing !  The  farmers  have  even  come 
to  look  upon  the  artists,  if  not  with 
respect,  at  least  with  tolerance, — tol- 
erance composed  of  about  equal  meas- 
ures of  gratitude  and  contempt;  for 
the  artists   are   eager  purchasers   of 

34 


milk,  butter,  eggs,  and  vegetables,Vmj 
pay  fabulous  prices. 

Behind  the  studios  the  ground  falls 
away  to  the  floor  of  the  little  valley 
over  which,  girt  with  alder  and  wil- 
low, a  stream  winds  its  way.  It  is  a 
noisy,  flippant  little  stream,  filled  with 
musical  cascades  and  dotted  with  deep 
brown  pools  which  promise  trout  but 
never  fulfil  the  promise ;  it  tinkles  and 
bubbles  and  gurgles  and  tries  to  im- 
press the  world  with  a  sense  of  its 
importance.  There  is  a  good  deal  of 
human  nature  about  that  stream. 
Being  only  an  ornament,  it  fancies 
itself  quite  a  bit  as  a  necessity.  How- 
ever, importance  is  only  relative,  and 
I  dare  say  to  the  trees  and  bushes  that 
line  its  banks  that  absurd  little  brook 
seems  a  veritable  Mississippi.  Be- 
yond the  stream  the  ground  rises 
again  rather  abruptly  and  climbs  the 

35 


V 


i 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


side  of  a  very  respectable  hill  whereon 
a  forest  of  young  maples  holds  sway. 
From  the  backs  of  many  of  the  studios 
porches  have  been  thrown  out  over 
the  bank  where,  high  above  the  mur- 
muring brook,  the  citizens  of  Maple 
Green  sit  when  the  shadows  lengthen 
on  summer  afternoons  and  sip  tea 
from  quaint  cups  and  talk  a  gibberish 
far  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the 
birds  and  squirrels  listening  amazedly 
from  nearby  branches. 

From  May  to  October  flowers  bloom 
from  one  end  of  Maple  Green  to  the 
other;  crimson  ramblers  clamber  up 
snowy  white  lattices  and  dispute  the 
eaves  with  wistaria  and  honeysuckle; 
nasturtiums  flame  along  the  borders 
and  sweet  peas  flutter  like  dainty  but- 
terflies among  the  trellises ;  stocks, 
sweet-william,  dahlias,  bachelor's-but- 
tons, and  phlox— for  Maple  Green  af- 

36 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


fects  the  old-fashioned  in  flowers  as 
well  as  in  furnishings — fill  the  little 
gardens;  so  that  as  one  travels  east- 
ward in  summer  or  early  fall  along  the 
highway  his  eyes  must  seek  the  right 
of  the  road  occasionally  for  very  re- 
lief from  so  much  color. 

This  evening  it  was  mild  for  April. 
The  air  was  still  and  soft.  Above  the 
meadow  slopes  three  stars  gleamed 
tremblingly  like  drops  of  molten  silver 
spattered  against  a  blue  canopy.  The 
shadows  were  long  and  purple  against 
the  rose-gold  light  which  bathed  the 
little  valley.  The  damp  of  evening 
brought  forth  a  fragrance  from  the 
earth,  a  subtle  Essence  of  Spring. 
Down  the  long  road  Maple  Green  was 
astir.  The  incipient  sidewalk  held 
here  and  there  a  moving  couple  re- 
turning from  the  post-office  or  bent 
upon  a  call.     The  front  porches  were 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


mostly  occupied.  Nearer  at  hand  the 
Misses  Buggies,  in  straw  garden  hats 
tied  with  ribbons  under  their  chins, 
were  at  work  over  their  flower-beds. 
Miss  Anamite  Ruggles  operated  a 
vivid  green  watering-pot ;  Miss  Venet- 
ian Ruggles  used  a  rake  with  lady-like 
dexterity.  Their  soft  voices  reached 
Miles  where  he  sat  on  one  of  the 
white  benches  of  the  little  uncovered 
stoop. 

"Forgive  me  for  differing  with  you, 
dear,  won't  you?  But  the  coreop- 
sis did  much  better  .  .  .  morning  sun- 
light ..." 

"I  can  scarcely  believe  that  I  am 
mistaken,  dear  .  .  .  remember  per- 
fectly that  the  candytuft  was  in  the 
corner  and  that  the  coreopsis, 
dear,  ..." 

Hunter  B rough  came  out  in  a  cloud 
of  smoke,  carrying  his  guitar  and  fol- 

38 


/ 


AN   ORCHARD    PRIN 


lowed  by  the  faithful  Bistre,  an 
seated  himself  on  the  opposite  bench. 
The  landscape  painter  was  stout, 
squat,  broad  of  shoulder,  and  deep  of 
chest,  with  a  large  square  face  almost 
hidden  by  a  tangle  of  brown  whiskers. 
His  eyes  were  small  and  bright  and  of 
a  faded  blue  shade.  He  looked  like  a 
successful  commission  merchant.  His 
hands  were  a  never-ceasing  wonder  to 
Miles.  They  were  broad  and  pudgy, 
short  of  finger  and  incompetent-look- 
ing. And  yet  they  performed  wonders 
with  the  paint-brush  and  worked  mira- 
cles with  the  strings  of  a  guitar. 
Throwing  one  huge  leg  over  the  other 
and  leaning  his  head  against  the  trellis 
at  his  back,  he  began  to  play  softly. 
At  moments  the  volumes  of  smoke 
bursting  from  under  his  thick  mous- 
tache hid  his  face  from  view.  He  had 
a  deep  voice,  which,  gruff  and  almost 

39 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

discordant  in  conversation,  was  rich 
and  sweet  when  he  sang. 

"  The  Bachelor !     The  Bachelor ! 

The  man  who  lives  in  joy ! 
Whose  cares  are  few,  whose  friends  are  true, 

Whose  peace  holds  no  alloy; 
Who  lights  his  pipe  and  fills  his  bowl, 

Cries  '  Fie  !'  to  care  and  strife — 0  ! 
Who  takes  a  sip  from  ev'ry  lip 

And  leads  a  merry  life — 0 ! 

"God  bless  the  jolly  Bachelor, 
Who's  ever  blithe  and  gay; 
Who,  when  he  won't,  my  lad,  he  don't, 
And  when  he  would,  he  may!" 

Miles  grinned  across  through  the  in- 
termingling smoke.  Hunter  Brough 
tinkled  the  strings  and  went  on. 

"  The  Bachelor !     The  Bachelor ! 
The  wight  who  lives  alone, 
With  friends  to  share  his  pleasures  fair, 
Bnt  none  to  hear  his  moan ; 
40 


'  '   T>n   »  n\> 


THAT'S    A    8II.I.Y    TINK,"    SAID    MILKS 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

With  elbows  out  and  heels  run  in, 

For  lacking  of  a  wife — 0  ! 
With  lips  to  kiss,  but  no  lips  his, 

He  leads  a  sorry  life — 0 ! 

"  God  help  the  povern  Bachelor 

When  heart  and  hair  grow  gray, 
With  little  joy  for  aught,  my  boy, 
Save  having  of  his  way  !" 

"That's  a  silly  tune,"  said  Miles. 
The  other  blinked  across  at  him 
calmly. 

"There's  many  a  true  word  spoken 
in  song,"  he  answered,  solemnly. 
"How  old  are  yon,  Miles?" 

"Thirty-one,  please  your  Honor.'' 

"You  ought  to  be  married,"  said 
the  artist,  severely.  "You're  wasting 
vour  time." 

1 '  The  deuce  you  say !  Well,  from  a 
confirmed,  disgruntled  old  bach  like 
you  that  comes  well!" 

"It  would  do  you  good  in  more  ways 

41 


__N   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

than  one,"  continued  his  friend,' 
calmly.    "It  would  settle  you " 

' '  I  fear  it  would ! ' ' 

"And  give  you  a  new  point  of 
view — which  you  need!  The  idea  of 
a  novelist — a  successful  one  at  that 
— never  having  been  in  love !  Poppy- 
cock ! ' ' 

' '  Never  in  love ! ' '  exclaimed  the 
other.  "You  wrong  me!  You  don't 
know  all!" 

"Well,  were  you?" 

' '  Once, ' '  answered  Miles,  sadly.  ' '  I 
will  tell  you  about  it.    She  was " 

"No,  you  won't,  either!"  inter- 
rupted Hunter.  "You've  never  been 
decently  in  love  in  your  life.  And  you 
pretend  to  write  novels !  To  be  sure, 
you  fight  shy  of  love-scenes ;  I  '11  give 
you  credit  for  knowing  a  few  of  your 
limitations;  but  you've  got  an  infer- 
nal cheek  to  write  at  all  under  the  cir- 

42 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS  f7 

cumstances.     lou're   only  half  <js§&-  k 
cated,  my  boy  !"  k^mi 

' '  Hear  him ! ' '  observed  Miles,  tragi-  ^Vl 
cally,  addressing  himself  to  Bistre. 
"I  ask  you  to  hear  him!  Forty-odd 
years  old,  a  confirmed  woman-hater,  #  ^ 
and  railing  at  me  because  I  don't 
marry !  Inconsistency,  thy  name  is 
Hunter!" 

"Oh,  you  may  laugh,"  responded 
the   other,   gruffly,   "but   I'm   talking 
sense.     You  need  to  get  your  wings 
singed  once  or  twice,  my  boy!     Then 
you  might  be  able  to  picture  a  womanjj 
that  looked  like  a  woman  and  not^i 
bundle  of  silk  and  lace.    Look  at  tha 
girl  in  that  last  book  of  yours ;  what 
her  name?    Hortense?    Gertrude?" 

"Caroline,"  answered  the  noveli¥^^ 
meekly.  ^    A 

"Caroline,  then.    Huh!    Call  her  a      ^ 
woman?      Stick    to    your    outlandish 

43 


ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

and  ranchers;  the  public 
.^seems  to  like  those  well  enough;  but 
for  Heaven's  sake  let  women  alone — 
until  you  know  'em ! ' ' 

"Hunter,  you  have  hurt  me 
deeply,"  sighed  Miles.  "I  thought 
Caroline  was  pretty  well  drawn,  and 
now  you  tell  me  that  she  is  only  a 
bundle  of  silk  and  lace!  To-morrow 
I  shall  go  out  and  fall  in  love  straight- 
way with  the  first  woman  I  set  eyes  on. 
Maybe  she'll  have  a  husband  and  a 
large  family  dependent  on  her;  then 
v  you  '11  be  sorry  you  spoke  as  you  have ; 
sorry  you  drove  me  to  desperation. 
Think  of  the  bereaved  husband  and 
the  seven — did  I  say  seven? — seven 
motherless  children!     Think " 

"Oh,  I  don't  believe  the  husband's 
in  any  danger. ' ' 

"That's  because  you've  never  seen 
me  in  the  role  of  Don  Juan,  Hunter.    I 

44 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


wish  you'd  let  me  tell  you  about  that 
affair  of  mine,  that  single  romance  of 
my  lonely  life ! ' ' 

"Get  out!" 

Hunter  lighted  his  pipe  again  and 
then  set  his  fingers  darting  over  the 
strings  in  a  rag-time  melody,  his  foot 


J  5 


beating    time    on    the    floor.      Miles 


hummed  the  words  under  his  breath 
a  minute.  Then  he  asked,  sud- 
denly,— 

"Who's  here  this  spring,  Hunter?' 

"Not  many  yet;  our  most  noted 
citizens  don't  come  along  until  hot 
weather  drives  them  from  town.  They 
don't  know  what  they  miss.  At  pres- 
ent there  are  the  Euggleses,  the  Hop- 
kinses,  the  Tafts 

"Who  are  they?" 

"Horace  Taft,  water-color  painter, 
and  his  wife." 

"Old?" 

45 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


1 '  Seems  to  me  you  're  getting  inquis- 
itive. He's  about  forty  and  she's  a 
few  years  younger." 

"Oh!" 

"Just  so!  Then,  in  the  brick  cot- 
tage with  the  covered  porch,  there  is 
Merrill  Link.  Want  to  know  about 
urn?" 

"No,  thanks." 

"Then  come  the  Beatties,  mother 
and  daughter. ' ' 

"Artists?" 

"No;  you  ought  to  know  Mrs. 
Beattie;  she's  one  of  these  passionate 
poetesses  you  read  about.  The  daugh- 
ter dabbles  in  art,  I  believe. ' ' 

"Dabbles!"  said  Miles,  indignantly. 
' '  Much  you  know  about  it ! " 
Eh  ?    You  know  her,  then  ? ' ' 

"No,  I  don't." 

"Well,  then,  how  do  vou  know 
whether  she  dabbles  or  not?     Maybe 

46 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

you'd    call    it    painting-;     you've    got 
queer  ideas  on  art." 

"No  queerer  than  your  ideas  on  lit- 
erature ! ' ' 

"Maybe;  every  man  to  his  trade. 
Meanwhile,  I  insist  that  Bijou  Beattie 
does  dabble." 

"Bijou?" 

"Yes;  sweet  name,  isn't  it?  And 
suits  her  so  well !" 

"Does  it?" 

"Well,  doesn't  it?  You've  seen 
her,  haven't  you  ? ' ' 

"I'm  not  sure.  Is  she  rather  slight 
and  graceful,  with  yellowish  hair 
and " 

"No,  she's  not,"  answered  Hunter, 
gruffly.  "She's  tall  and  awkward  and 
has  dark  hair,  which  she  wears  tied  in 
a  bundle  on  top  of  her  silly  head.  And 
she  wears  things  that  fit  her  too  quick, 
much  too  quick." 

47 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


Miles  sighed  with  relief. 

' '  Then  I  don 't  think  I  Ve  seen  her. ' ' 

"Well,  what  are  you  so  interested 
in  her  for,  then  ? ' ' 

"I'm  not  at  all  interested  in  her," 
answered  Miles,  calmly.  His  host 
stopped  playing  and  stared  at  him. 

"Where  does  it  seem  to  affect  you 
the  worst?"  he  asked,  with  elaborate 
fncern.     "Would  you  like  to  see  a 
doctor?" 

' '  Shut  up ! "  answered  Miles. 
"Who  else  is  here?'1  Hunter  nursed 
his  pipe  a  moment. 

"That's  about  all,  I  guess,"  he  re- 
plied, after  a  moment.  "Or  no,  Simp- 
kins  came  down  last  week. ' ' 

"Simpkins?"  repeated  Miles  ques- 
tioningiy. 

"Yes,  Simpkins!  Interested  in 
Simpkins  ? ' ' 

'No,  I  think  not.    Is  he  married?" 
48 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"Not  that  I  know  of;  why!" 

"Just  wondered.  And  there's  no 
one  else  here?" 

"Maybe  some  one  at  the  Inn;  I 
don't  know,"  answered  the  other,  im- 
patiently.   "Usually  is." 

"Oh!"  mused  Miles.     "The  Inn!" 

Hunter  B  rough  grunted  and  sum- 
moned a  series  of  discords  from  the  in- 
strument that  made  Miles  writhe  in  his 
seat  and  brought  a  groan  of  protest 
from  Bistre.    Presently, — 

"I've  got  to  go  into  the  city  to- 
morrow; want  to  come  along?"  he 
asked.    Miles  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Afternoon?" 

"Morning;   first  train." 

"N-no,  I  guess  not.  Not  unless  it 
rains. ' ' 

"Not  unless  it  rains!"  repeated 
Hunter,   in   wonder.     "Why   do   you 


want  to  go  if  it  rains?" 


<T^ 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"I  don't." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  groaned  the  artist. 
' '  He 's  as  mad  as  a  March  hare ! ' ' 

"Yon  don't  think  it  will  rain,  do 
you?"  Miles  asked. 

"No,  I  don't,"  answered  Hunter, 
irascibly.  He  wandered  off  into  a  slow 
waltz  tune,  humming  softly.  The  val- 
ley was  in  twilight.  Lights  shone  from 
the  windows  down  the  road  and 
twinkled  from  the  farm-houses  across 
the  meadows.  From  behind  the  cot- 
tage came  the  chatter  of  the  little 
stream,  subdued  and  lulling.  In  the 
purple  heavens  a  multitude  of  white 
stars  scintillated.  A  little  breath, 
damp  and  chill,  crept  down  the  long- 
slope  and  fluttered  the  leaves. 

"It's  getting  cold,"  murmured 
Miles,  arousing  himself  from  his 
thoughts.    "Let's  go  in." 

There  was  no  reply  from  the  oppo- 
50 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


The  artist  was  strumming 


v  > 


site  bench 

the  strings  tentatively,  as  though 
searching  for  a  forgotten  refrain. 
Presently  he  found  it  and  began  to 
sing  an  accompaniment  softly,  under 
his  breath: 

"  The  world  is  very  wide,  dear, 

The  heavens  very  high, 

And  save  the  winds  and  tide,  dear, 

'Tis  I  alone  know  why, 

'Tis  I  alone  know  why. 


"  The  earth  was  made  so  grand,  dear 
The  heav'ns  so  far  above, 
That  you  might  understand,  dear, 
How  wide  and  deep  my  love, 
How  wide  and  deep  my  love." 


Nature  repeated  herself  the  next 
morning.  There  was  the  same  blue 
sky,  the  same  pile  of  downy  white 
clouds  in  the  west,  the  same  ethereal 
gold  flooding  the  April  land,  the  same 
stillness,  as  though  Nature  held  finger 
to  lip.  And,  as  before,  the  air  was 
sweet  with  the  fragrance  of  apple- 
blossoms. 

Miles  watched  Hunter  Brough  seat 
himself  in  the  Inn  carryall,  a  canvas 
wrapped  in  newspapers  held  carefully 
on  his  knees,  and  disappear  in  the 
direction  of  the  railroad.  So  did  Bis- 
tre.    Bistre  had  a  philosophy  of  his 


52 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

own,  and  a  clause  of  it  was,  "Recog- 
nize the  inevitable  and  accept  it  with 
good  grace."  Having  been  thrust  ig- 
nominiously  from  the  carriage  five 
separate  times,  he  realized  that  Fate 
was  against  him  and  accepted  her  de- 
cision. He  retired  to  the  stoop  and 
viewed  the  disappearing  vehicle  with 
well-simulated  relief,  glancing  at 
Miles  as  if  to  say,  "Well,  I'm  glad  we 
don't  have  to  go  to  town,  aren't  you?" 
Miles  prepared  his  pipe  for  an  after- 
breakfast  smoke,  snapped  his  fingers 
at  Bistre,  and  set  off  westward  along 
the  highway.  When  he  came  to  the 
grass-grown  lane  he  turned  into  it, 
vaulted  the  stone  wall,  and,  whistling 
carelessly,  made  his  way  through  the 
orchard.  The  sunlight  slanted  down 
amidst  the  branches  and  kissed  the 
pink  petals  and  the  tiny  green  leaves. 
The  grass  was  wet  with  dew;    each 

53 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


blade  held  its  quota  of  quivering,  shim- 
mering gems.  The  bees  had  already 
begun  their  long  day's  task,  and  their 
drooning  chant  formed  a  musical  back- 
ground for  the  florid  paeans  of  unseen 
birds.  When  he  reached  the  edge  of 
the  little  clearing,  Miles 's  gaze  darted 
eagerly  toward  the  scene  of  yester- 
day's meeting.  There  again  were  the 
easel  and  the  girl.  But  to-day  the 
golden  hair  was  hidden  by  the  blue 
sun-bonnet,  and  Miles  could  see 
naught  of  the  face  which  since  the  day 
before  had  filled  his  thoughts  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  else. 

' '  Good-morning, ' '  he  called. 

The  sun-bonnet  turned  until  the  pic- 
ture it  framed  was  visible.  A  moment 
the  girl  looked  at  him  in  silence,  and 
Miles  felt  a  stab  of  disappointment; 
it  was  as  though  she  were  striving  to 
recollect  him.    Then, — 

54 


^ 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINC 

"Good-morning,"  she  answered.* 

Bistre  trotted  to  her  side  with  an 
assurance  that  the  man  envied  him, 
and  had  his  head  scratched  with  the 
end  of  her  brush.    Miles  followed. 

' '  How  is  the  picture  getting  along  f ' ' 
he  asked. 

' '  You  can  see  for  yourself, ' '  she  an- 
swered. ' '  I  haven 't  done  much  vet : 
I  am  waiting  for  the  sun  to  get  up  a 
little  higher;  the  shadows,  you  see, 
are  still  rather  weak." 

She  turned  toward  him  and  he 
caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  soft  blue 
eyes  under  golden-brown  lashes,  of 
pink  cheeks,  and  of  a  gleam  of  white 
teeth  between  the  parted  lips.  Then 
he  was  looking  down  on  to  a  blue  cot- 
ton sun-bonnet  again.  He  detested 
that  bonnet.  He  moved  his  gaze  to  the 
canvas.  The  picture  had  not  grown 
much ;    here    and    there   the    sketchy 

55 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


charcoal  strokes  still  showed  against 
the  creamy  canvas. 

"Do  you  sell  your  pictures?"  he 
asked. 

' '  Oh,  yes ;  that  is,  when  I  can. ' ' 

"And  this  one?  It  will  be  for 
sale?" 

"I  suppose  so."  She  seemed  a  bit 
surprised. 

"What  I  meant  was,"  he  hurried 
to  explain, ' '  that  I  'd  like  to  buy  it  if — 
if  you  decide  to  sell  it. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied.  "But 
perhaps  you  had  better  wait  until  you 
see  it  finished  before  you  commit  your- 
self.  It  may  not  turn  out  so  well,  after 
all." 

"Has  the  discouragement  re- 
turned?" he  asked.  "Surely,  on  a 
morning  like  this  discouragement  isn't 
possible!" 

"In  my  case,"  she  said,  gravely, 
\  56 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"discouragement  is  no  respecter  of — 
weather  conditions.  Still,  so  far  it  has 
not  troubled  me  to-day. ' ' 

"But — forgive  me  if  I  seem  imper- 
tinent— but  surely  it  can  possess  no 
great  terror  for  you,  since  you  are 
able  to  do  such  things  as  that."  He 
nodded  toward  the  canvas,  yet  kept 
his  eyes  on  the  tip  of  the  obnoxious 
bonnet,  fearful  lest  he  miss  a  glimpse 
of  the  face  beneath.  ' '  Surely  success 
and  discouragement  can't  keep  com- 
pany. ' ' 

"Are  you  never  discouraged?"  she 
asked,  looking  up. 

"I?  Why,  yes,  sometimes;  just  a 
little." 

"And  vet  vou  are  successful,  far 
more  so  than  I." 

"Well,  but — how  do  you  know  I  am 
successful?" 

"Isn't  it  success  to  write  books  peo- 

57 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


pie   like,   to   write   well — and   to   sell 
well!" 

"Oh!  Then  I  am  not  incognito  to 
you  ? ' ' 

She  laughed  softly,  and  the  sun- 
bonnet  moved  from  side  to  side. 

No.  You  see,  Maple  Green  is  not 
so  large  that  a  new-comer  can  remain 
long  a  mystery. ' ' 

"I  see.  I  am  sorry,  though;  I  had 
"hqped  you  would  mistake  me  for  a 
Wandering  Person  of  Importance,  per- 
chance even  for  a— a  prince. ' ' 

"No," — she  raised  her  face  and  ob- 
served him  gravely  for  a  long  moment, 
no,  I  don't  think  I  should  have 
mistaken  you  for  a  prince. ' ' 

•'Oh,  I  say!  Why  not,  now? 
Eeally,  princes  aren't  so  different 
from  the  rest  of  us." 

"Perhaps,  but — you  don't  look  like 
a  prince. ' ' 

58 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


' '  I  am  sorry, ' '  he  said  again.  ' '  I — 
I'd  like  very  much  to  be  one." 

"You  should  be  satisfied  with  what 
you  are — and  have,"  she  answered, 
lightly. 

"Maybe.  There's  one  thing,  how- 
ever, that  I  haven't  got,  and  which  I'd 
like  very  much  to  have." 

"Yes!  And  what  is  that?"  She 
dipped  her  brush  in  green  paint,  wig- 
gled it  toward  the  centre  of  the 
palette,  leaving  a  zigzag  of  color 
across  the  polished  cedar,  and  deep- 
ened a  shadow  on  the  canvas  before 
her. 

' '  Information, ' '  answered  Miles, 
watching  her  hand.  "You  see,  you 
have  very  much  the  best  of  it;  you 
know  my  name  and  my  profession, 
while  I — well,  I  think  you  are  a  prin- 
cess, but  I  can't  be  certain.  Any 
scraps  of  information  on  the  subject 

59 

{  . 


h 


CSS  0 

which /you  may  be  willing  to  let  fall 
will  be  gratefully  received. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  I  am  Miss  Lynde ;  profession, 
landscape  painter  in  oils;  present 
place  of  abode,  Maple  Tree  Inn.  Are 
you  happier  ? ' ' 

"Infinitely.  Thank  you  very  much. 
As  you  have  said,  Maple  Green  is 
small,  and  naturally " 

"Why  is  it,"  she  laughed,  "that  a 
man  always  tries  to  apologize  for  his 
curiosity!" 

"I  don"t  think  I  was  apologizing," 
answered  Miles.  "I  was  merely — ex- 
plaining. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  then  I  beg  your  pardon.  You 
see,  it  sounded  like  an  apology. 
There,  I  think  I  can  get  to  work  now ; 
the  shadows  are  much  better." 

"Then  I  will  leave  you,"  said  Miles, 
cheerfully.  "I  don't  want  to  interfere 
with  your  work. ' ' 

60 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered.  M 
fore  you  go,  would  you  mind  pushing 
my  paint-box  a  little  nearer!" 

"Not    at    all,"    he    replied,    as   he 
obeyed. 

"Thank   you   ever   so   much,"   she 
said.    ' '  Good-morning. ' ' 

"Good-morning,"  echoed  Miles. 

Thereupon  he   ascended   the   slope 
fully  twelve  feet  and  seated  himself  on 
a  convenient  hummock.     The  position 
had   its   advantages;    he  was   rather 
more  in  front  of  her  than  he  had  been,  (^\ 
and  it  was  possible  to  look  under  the^ 
sun-bonnet.    He  took  advantage  of  the 
possibility    now    and    found    himsel 
gazing  into  a  pair  of  surprised  blue 
eyes.  ^     "    f  ji 

1 '  I  thought ! ' '  she  began. 

"You  thought?"  he  asked,  concern- 
edly. 

' '  I  thought  you  were  going. ' ' 
61 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


' '  I  have  gone, ' '  he  answered,  calmly. 

"Oh!" 

"Yes,  I  didn't  want  to  be  in  your 
way,  so  I  took  myself  off.  I'm  really 
rather  thoughtful  of  others.  Come 
here,  Bistre;  you  are  not  to  disturb 
Miss  Lynde,  sir.  You  must  retire  into 
the  distance  with  me  and  share  my 
exile. ' ' 

"I  fear  you  don't  know  the  differ- 
ence between  distance  and  fore- 
ground," said  the  girl. 

"I  am  not  up  on  matters  pertaining 
to  art,"  he  answered,  easily.  "We 
are  Philistines,  Bistre  and  I.  But 
please  don't  let  us  disturb  you.  We 
are  quite  content  to  sit  here  and  only 
sj^eak  when  we  're  spoken  to. ' ' 

"On  that  condition,"  she  rejDlied, 
"you  may  remain." 

"Thank  you,"  he  murmured.  "Do 
you  mind  if  I  smoke  a  pipe ! ' ' 

62 


r~ 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

' '  Since  you  are  no  longer  here, ' '  she 
answered,  gravely,  "how  can  it  con- 
cern me?" 

' '  But — er — if  I  hadn  't  gone  ? ' ' 
"I  shouldn't  have  minded." 
He  lighted  his  briar,  leaned  elbows 
on  knees,  and  watched  her  frankly. 
Dislike  the  sun-bonnet  as  he  might,  he 
was  forced  to  acknowledge  that  it 
made  a  charming  setting  for  her  face, 
throwing  it  into  the  softest  of  shadow 
save  where  a  sunbeam  crept  past  its 
jealous  edge  and  danced  and  quivered 
on  the  firmly  rounded  chin.  Occasion- 
ally, when  the  head  was  turned  a  little 
toward  him,  he  saw  glints  of  blue 
under  the  long  golden-brown  lashes, 
and  at  such  moments  felt  strange 
thrills  of  excitement.  He  found  him- 
self wondering  with  a  leaping  heart 
what  it  would  be  to  have  those  blue 
eyes   looking   straight   into   his   from 

63 


• 


\ 


\ 


- 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


a  distance  of — well,  say  the  length 
of  his  pipe!  He  wondered  what  he 
would  say  —  do !  He  sighed  —  and 
wondered  why.  Then  he  puffed 
furiously  at  his  pipe  until  Bistre, 
coughing  and  sneezing,  dragged  him- 
self away  with  a  reproachful  look 
from  his  round  brown  eyes. 

Had  one  coldly  dissected  the  face 
nder  the  bonnet  feature  by  feature, 
one  might  have  found  cause  for  dis- 
satisfaction. Perhaps  the  face  was  a 
trifle  long  for  absolute  beauty,  the 
cheeks  a  trifle  too  thin.  Perhaps,  too, 
one  might  have  found  fault  with  the 
chin;  maybe  it  was  a  bit  too  firmly 
formed  for  a  woman's  face,  a  little 
too  strong  in  contour  despite  its 
smooth  roundness.  But  Miles,  for 
once  at  least,  was  not  analytical.  To 
him  the  face  was  absolutely  the  most 
charming,  the  most  wonderful,  he  had 

64 


ever  seen.  But  one  thing  troulne 
him,  and  that  only  dimly;  the  mouth 
drooped  a  little  at  the  ends  of  the 
sweet  red  lips  as  he  had  once  seen  a 
child's  mouth  droop  during  a  moment 
of  sorrow.  The  general  expression  of 
the  girl's  face  was  one  of  tender 
gravity  that  Miles  thought  adorable, 
but  the  pathos  of  the  drooping  lips 
disturbed  him.  He  wondered  whether 
she  was  unlfappy.  It  might  be;  he 
knew  nothing  of  her  beyond  her  name 
and  profession.  Perhaps — and  there 
was  a  sudden  dismal  sinking  of  his 
heart  at  thought  of  the  possibility — 
perhaps  she  had  had  an  unfortunate 
love  affair!  At  twenty-two — and  he 
judged  her  to  be  of  that  age — it  is  pos- 
sible to  have  experienced  both  love 
and  disappointment.  The  thought 
aroused  in  him  both  an  absurd  jeal- 
ousy and  an  equally  absurd  desire  to 
s  65 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


comfort  and  protect  her.  And  yet — 
and  he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  it 
ruefully — she  didn't  look  the  least  bit 
in  the  world  like  a  person  requiring 
either  sympathy  or  protection.  There 
was  a  confidence  about  her  every  look 
nd  gesture  that  made  the  idea  seem 
utterly  incongruous.  Miles  found 
himself  wishing  selfishly  that  she  was 
not  so  evidently  capable  and  self- 
reliant. 

His  pipe  had  gone  out  during  his 
period  of  reflection,  and  he  scratched 
a  match  to  relight  it.  At  the  sound 
the  girl  turned  and  looked  at  him  in 
smiling  desjDair. 

"I  wish !    Can't  you  see,"  she 

asked,  helplessly,  "that  I  can't  paint 
while  you  sit  there  staring  at  me!" 

"Was  I  staring?"  he  asked,  hypo- 
critically. 


^'Well,  weren't  you?" 

66 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


"Oh,  yes." 

' '  But  it — it  makes  me  nervous !  I  'm 
not  used  to  having  folks  around  when 
I'm  at  work." 

"I  see.  Then  you  want  me  to  go 
away? — that  is,  still  farther  away!" 

She  hesitated,  observing  him  per- 
plexedly. 

' '  If  only  you  'd  turn  your  back, ' '  she 
suggested.  "I  suppose  I've  no  right 
to  send  you  away,  since  this  is  no  more 
my  property  than  it  is  yours.  But, 
really,  it  is  so  hard  to  paint  when  you 
know  some  one  is  looking  at  you. ' ' 

''The  correct  thing  for  me  to  do," 
said  Miles,  thoughtfully,  "would  be  to 
arise, — in  this  manner, — bow, — like 
this, — and  say,  'My  dear  young  lady, 
whether  I  have  equal  rights  with  you 
to  remain  on  this  property  doesn't 
enter  into  the  question.  The  mere 
fact  that  my  presence — even  at  a  dis- 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


tance — annoys  you  is  sufficient.  I  will 
retire  at  once.'  " 

"Well?"  she  asked,  as  he  finished. 
He  seated  himself  again  on  the  hum- 
mock. 

"That  is  what  I  ought  to  say,"  he 
answered,  calmly.  "What  I  do  say  is 
this :  let  us  compromise.  I  will  retire 
to  the  next  available  seat,  which  ap- 
pears to  be  some  ten  feet  farther  up 
the  bank, — and,  since  it  is  in  shade, 
must  be  very  damp,— or  I  will  remain 
where  I  am  and  half  turn  my  back  to 
you.  You  see,  I  shouldn't  like  to  be 
guilty  of  the  impropriety  of  turning 
my  back  entirely  on  a  lady." 

"But  I'd  know  you  were  there  just 
the  same,"  she  objected,  laughingly. 
Her  laughter  was  so  infrequent  that 
Miles  felt  flushed  with  victoiy  when- 
ever he  summoned  it. 

"Then  I  will  go  farther  away,"  he 
68 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


answered,  promptly.  "Only,  if  I 
should  catch  cold  and  have  something 
serious,  like — like  hav  fever  or  influ- 
enza,  you'd  reproach  yourself,  I'm 
sure. ' ' 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  sighed,  turning 
again  to  her  canvas.  "Stay  where 
you  like. ' ' 

"Thank  you,''  he  replied,  grate- 
fully. "Shall  I— er— half  turn  my 
back?" 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do,"  she 
answered,  bending  her  head  away 
toward  her  palette.  "Only,  if  you 
must  stay,  perhaps  it  would  be  better 
if  you  talked. ' ' 

"I  should  like  it  above  all  things! 
What  shall  I  talk  about?" 

"Anything;  and  please,  please  try 
to  look  somewhere  else." 

"Well,  I  will  try,''  he  said,  in  a 
tone    that    didn't    promise    well    for 

69 


(T^ 


~-\ 


fkN.   ORCHARD   PRINCES 

success.    He  turned  his  gaze  towa 
the  tops  of  the  apple-trees  across  th' 
glade    and   began,    in   a   monotonous 
voice : 

"What  verv  lovelv  weather  we  are 
having  for  the  time  of  year.  I  am 
creditably  informed  that  it  is  quite  un- 
usual. Crops,  I  am  told,  are  much 
farther  advanced  than  they  were  at 
this  time  last  year.  The  wheat  is  in 
splendid  condition.  The  apple  crop, 
if  one  is  to  judge  by  the  quantity  of 
blossoms,  will  be  very  large.  I  trust 
that  it  will  prove  so.  I  am  very  fond 
of  apples.  I  like  them  in  pies,  in  pud- 
dings, in  sauce,  and  in  cider ;  although 
I  don 't  think  they  very  often  find  their 
Way  into  the  latter  nowadays.  I  also 
like  them  baked,  with  an  accompani- 
ment of  cream  and  sugar.  When  I 
was  somewhat  younger  I  was  not  so 
discriminating,  so  particular.    I  liked 

70 


\ 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

them  most  any  old  way  then; 
cially  hard  and  green." 

He  paused,  took  a  deep  breath,  and 
began  again. 

"The  apple  is  a  very  useful  fruit. 
Without  the  apple  we  should  have  had 
no  original  sin.  Perhaps,  however,  I 
may  be  mistaken  there;  possibly  Eve 
would  have  eaten  a  pear  instead.  At 
all  events,  the  apple — : — " 

"Mr.  Fallon!" 

Miles,  interrupted,  brought  his  eyes 
to  earth  and  fixed  them  upon  the  faces, 
of  the  girl.  /'%, 

' '  I  beg  your  pardon  ? ' '  he  asked. 

"How  do  you  think  I  can  work?' 
she  asked,  despairingly. 

"You  don't  like  apples,  then?    Bui 
you  have  only  to  indicate  the  subje 
you  wish  me   to   discourse   on,   Miss 
Lvnde.    I  assure  vou  I  can  talk  intel- 
ligently,  even  interestingly,  on  almost 

71 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


any  subject  under  the  sun.    Please  try 


me 


>  > 


"Very  well,  then,"  she  answered, 
maliciously,  "tell  me  about  your 
work;  how  you  write  your  novels, 
where  you  find  the  characters,  how 
you  think  of  your  plots." 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  he  asked,  de- 
jectedly. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  firmly. 

"Well,"  he  began,  hesitatingly. 
Then  there  was  a  silence.  Presently 
she  looked  up  to  find  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  her  pleadingly.  "I'd  very  much 
rather  not,  you  know, ' '  he  said. 

"Then  you  must  behave  yourself," 
she  answered,  severely.  "I've  only 
got  a  very  little  left  to  do,  and  when  it 
is  done  I  shall  leave  you  to  the  undis- 
puted enjoyment  of  this  spot.  Mean- 
while, please  don't  disturb  me  with 
any  more  information  about  apples. 

72 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


Tell  me  how  you  like  Maple  Green.    Is 
it  your  first  visit  here  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  my  first,"  he  answered.  "I 
like  it  very  much.  I  especially  like 
the  outskirts  of  it — this  spot,  for  in- 
stance." 

"Have  you  met  the — the  inhabi- 
tants?" 

' '  Some ;  the  Misses  Ruggles  I  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting. ' ' 

She  smiled  above  her  brush. 
Aren't     they     delightful?"     she 
asked. 

"Terrifying,  I  call  them.  Hunter 
took  me  around  there  the  other  day 
for  afternoon  tea.  They  asked  me 
what  I  thought  of  Wagner's  'The 
Simple  Life.'  I  said  I  didn't  remem- 
ber of  having  heard  it,  but  didn't  care 
for  "Wagner — pronouncing  it  with  a 
waggish  W  for  politeness — very  much. 
I  thought  they  looked  pained  and  sur- 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


prised.  Afterwards  Hunter  told  me 
that  Wagner  was  a  writer  chap  and 
that  'The  Simple  Life'  was  a  book. 
You  see,  I  spent  the  winter  in  Ari- 
zona and  thereabouts,  and  'The  Sim- 
ple Life'  hadn't  reached  there  when  I 
left." 

The  girl  at  the  easel  laughed  softly. 

"They're  dear  old  souls,  though," 
she  said.  "So  old-fashioned  and 
quaint;  I  think  they  live  the  simple 
life  themselves.  I've  heard  it  said 
that  they  never  paint  a  flower  that 
hasn't  come  out  of  their  own  garden." 

"Their  pictures,  what  I  saw  of 
them,  seemed  rather  clever  "  said 
Miles,  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  they  are!  They've  made  a 
wonderful  reputation  for  themselves 
and  get  fabulous  prices.  And  no  one 
has  ever  been  able  to  tell  Miss  Ve- 
ridian's  work  from  Miss  Anamite's; 

74 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


they  paint  just  alike ;  in  fact,  they  do 
everything  alike,  and  they  look  so 
much  alike  that  it  was  a  long  time 
before  I  was  able  to  tell  which  was  > 

which." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  their  paintings 
are  very  nice,"  Miles  responded,  "but 
I  can't  say  that  I  ever  saw  flowers  look 
just  like  theirs  do." 

"That's  because  you  haven't  'the 
cultivated  eye,'  "  laughed  the  girl. 
"You  should  get  them  to  explain  to 
you  about  it." 

"Heaven  forfend!"  exclaimed 
Miles,  devoutly.  Presently,  after  he 
had  watched  her  hand  moving  deftly 
before  the  canvas  for  a  moment  — 

"Then  you  have  been  here  before 
this  year?"  he  asked. 

1 '  Oh,  yes ;  I  was  here  last  spring  and 
again  in  the  summer." 

"At  the  Inn?" 

75 


CHARD    PRINCESS^ 


She  nodded. 

"But  isn't  it — don't  you  find  it  & 
/ 
bit  lonesome — by  yourself,  I  mean?" 

aThere  was  a  little  shrug  of  the  slim 
shoulders. 

"It  is  better  to  be  lonesome  than 
bored,"  she  answered,  a  trifle  cyni- 
cally. Miles  flushed.  She  turned 
swiftly  and  surprised  the  look  on  his 
face. 

''Oh,  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way!" 
she  cried,  in  dismay.  "Please,  I 
didn't,  really!  You'll  believe  me, 
won't  you?" 

"Of  course,"  he  answered, 
smilingly.  "But  you  might  have 
meant  it,  and  said  it  with  good  cause. 
I  have  been  discourteous  in  forcing 
my  presence  on  you  as  I  have,  and  I 
dare  say  I  have  bored  you  horribly." 

"Please!"  she  cried  again,  plead- 
ingly.     "You    haven't!      I    had    no 

76 


\ 


, 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS  ▼^ 

>£\ 

thought    of    you    when    I    said  ^13*1^ 
Won't    you    please    believe   me,    Mr. 
Fallon?" 

" Certainly  I  will.  And  it's  kind  of 
you  not  to  mean  it — that  way.  Tell 
me,    you've    been    in    Paris,    haven't 


you 


8" 


''Yes,"  she  answered,  in  surprise. 
' '  Why  ?    How  did  you  know  ? ' ' 

"By  the  way  you  shrugged  your 
shoulders  a  moment  ago.  That  shrug 
is  caught  only  there." 

' '  Oh,  yes,  I  was  there  a  year,  study-  (\ 
ing,"  she  answered,  a  bit  wistfully.        W 

"And  you  wanted  to  stay  longer?' 
he  asked,  softly.  W 

"Yes,  I  wanted  to  stay  longer.  But 
I  couldn't.  Do  vou  know,  I  dream  of 
going  back  to  Paris  some  day  as — a& 
some  folks  dream  of  going  to  Heaven  ? 
Does  that  sound  sacrilegious?"  she 
asked,  with  a  smile. 

77 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"I  fancy  I  know  the  feeling,"  lie 
answered,  gravely.  "As  for  Paris,  it 
holds  little  that  I  care  for ;  but  once,  a 
few  years  ago,  I  was  taken  ill  and  the 
doctors  said  I  wouldn't  pull  through. 
I  didn't  care  so  much  about  the  mere 
dying,  but  the  thought  that  I  would 
ever  see  the  dawn  on  the  mesas  again, 
never  again  feel  the  warm  breath  of 
the  Chinook  on  my  face,  was— hard. 
I  suppose  you  feel  that  way  about 
Paris." 

' '  Yes. ' '  She  had  dropped  the  hand 
holding  the  brush  and  was  gazing 
thoughtfully  past  him.  "Yes,"  she 
rejDeated,  softly,  "that's  the  way  I 
feel  about  Paris.  It  was  a  year  of 
another  life  to  me,  a  year  of  hard 
work,  but  a  dear,  sweet  one."  Her 
gaze  wandered  back  to  the  canvas  and, 
with  a  little  sigh,  she  took  up  her  work 
again. 

78 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


''And  you  had  to  leave — why?" 
asked  Miles. 

"I  was  needed  here,  at  home,"  she 
answered.  "There!"  She  put  down 
her  brush  and  arose.  "I  mustn't 
touch  it  again.    It's  finished." 

Miles  arose  and  went  to  the  easel. 
After  a  moment  he  turned  to  find  her 
eyes  on  him  anxiously. 

"Oh,  I  like  it  immensely,"  he  said, 
smilingly,  answering  her  unspoken 
question.  "But,  as  you  know,  I'm  no 
judge.  Like  a  multitude  of  other  be- 
nighted souls,  I  only  'know  what  I 
like.'  And  I  like  that.  But  you 
haven't  quite  finished  it,  have  you? 
Don't  you  usually  sign  them?" 

She  smiled,  dipped  a  small  brush  in 
the  paint,  and,  stooping,  printed  "P. 
Lynde"  in  a  lower  corner. 

"  'P.  Lynde,'  "  said  Miles.  "Now 
I  wonder  what  that  P.  stands  for." 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  gravely, 
closing  her  paint-box. 

"Priscilla?" 
yt-  -She  shook  her  head. 

"Er— not— not  Polly?" 

Again  she  shook  her  head. 

''Perhaps,"  she  said,  "it  means  just 
Miss  Lynde." 

"No,  I  think  it  means  more,"  he 
answered,  shaking  his  own  head.  ' '  Of 
course  one  can  find  out." 

"Of  course,  if  one  asks  the  neigh- 
bors; but  as  that  might  be  thought 
rather  queer,  I  don't  think — one  will." 

"No,  that's  so.  I  shall  have  to  look 
to  you  for  the  solution,  after  all. 
Some  day  you'll  tell  me,  won't  you?' 

' '  I  don 't  see  why  I  should, ' '  she  an- 
swered, calmly.    "Do  you?" 

"Yes,  I  see — but  I  shan't  tell  you; 
at  least,  not  at  present,"  he  answered, 
boldly.     She  shot  a  questioning  and 

80 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

somewhat  troubled  look  from  her  blue 
eves.  Then  she  took  the  canvas  from 
the  easel. 

"Here,  let  me  help  you,"  he  begged. 
"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 
carry  all  this  truck  around  every 
day?" 

"It's  not  heavy,"  she  answered. 

"But  you'll  let  me  carry  the  easel 
and  box  for  you?" 

"I'd  rather  you  didn't  trouble  your- 
self," she  answered. 

"But  your  way  is  mine,  and  if  I 
may?" 

She  bent  her  head  without  answer- 
ing and  led  the  way  down  the  glade 
toward  the  road.  Miles  followed.  So 
did  Bistre. 


V 

"Patty,"  murmured  Miles. 

Hunter  looked  up  from  the  letter  lie 
was  writing. 

' '  Eh  ? "  lie  asked.  Miles  started  and 
observed  him  blankly. 

"Did  you  speak?" 

"I  asked  what  you  said,"  responded 
the  other. 

"  Oh !     Did  I— say  anything  I ' ' 

"You  did;  you  mentioned  patties,  1 
think." 

"Patties?  Ah,  I  was  probably 
thinking  of  lunch. ' ' 

"Well,  you  won't  get  patties,  I 
guess,"  answered  Hunter,  dryly. 
"Think  of  cold  roast  beef  and  pickled 

82 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

walnuts,  salad  and  ale,  if  you  must 
think  of  lunch.  Only,  as  it  is  just 
a  little  after  eleven,  you  had  better 
make  up  your  mind  to  have  pa- 
tience." 

"Patience?"  cried  Miles,  triumph- 
antly, sitting  up  so  suddenly  on  the 
window-seat  that  Bistre  went  tum- 
bling to  the  floor.  And,  "Patience?" 
he  repeated,  questioningly,  thought- 
fully. 

Hunter  laid  down  his  pen  and 
looked  across  in  bewilderment. 

"What  under  the  sun  is  the  matter 
with  you  this  morning?"  he  growled. 
Miles  settled  back  again  amidst  the 
cushions. 

"Er — it  just  occurred  to  me  that  I 
might  amuse  myself  with  the  cards," 
he  answered.     Hunter  grunted. 

"You'll    find   them    in   the   drawer 

over  there,"  he  said.     "But  I  hate  to 

^*  83 


'•  . 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


think  you  find  life  so  dull  here  that  you 
have  to  play  patience.  Of  all  occu- 
pations in  the  world ! ' ' 

"Oh,  everything  goes  on  a  day  like 
this,"  answered  his  guest.  But  he 
made  no  move  toward  the  drawer  in- 
dicated by  his  host.  Out-of-doors  a 
warm  rain  was  falling,  washing  the 
young  leaves  of  the  maples  across  the 
vine,  and  with  its  gentle  patter  dull- 
ing the  song  of  the  little  stream.  The 
studio  windows  were  open  at  Miles 's 
elbow,  and  now  and  then  a  raindrop 
splashed  against  his  cheek.  The  baby 
nasturtiums  in  the  box  outside  danced 
and  courtesied  on  their  slender  stalks 
as  though  from  very  happiness. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  day?" 
grunted  Hunter,  as  his  pen  went 
creaking  slowly,  laboriously,  on  again 
over  the  paper. 

"Bainy,  of  course." 
84 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"What  of  it?  Can't  expect  the  sun 
to  shine  all  the  time,  can  you  ? ' ' 

"X-no,  I  suppose  not,"  answered 
Miles. 

Bistre,  having  turned  around  eight 
times  on  Miles 's  stomach,  finally 
prepared  for  more  slumber. 

"I  suppose,  by  the  way,"  said 
Hunter,  presently,  "you'll  be  leaving 
me  in  a  day  or  two  ?" 

' '  Leaving  you ! ' '  echoed  Miles,  ques- 
tioningly. 

"Yes,  going  back." 

"Back?    Back  where?" 

"Back  to  the  city ;  going  away  from 
here. ' ' 

' '  Away  from  here  \ ' '  murmured 
Miles,  dreamily.  ' '  Do  you  mean  away 
from  Maple  Green?" 

' '  Of  course !  What  do  you  suppose 
I've  been  talking  about  for  five  min- 
utes?" 


,1 


s 


ORCHARD   PRINCES 

"And     so     you    are     sending    m 
away!"      mused      Miles,      dolefully^ 
Hunter  stared  and  laid  down  his  pen 
again. 

"Sending  you  away?  Of  course 
I  'm  not !    If  you  care  to  stay ' ' 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,"  Miles  assured 
him,  sorrowfully.  "If  there's  some- 
body else  coming  I  can  go,  I  suppose. 
But " 

' '  Who  said  anything  about  anybody 
coming!"  asked  his  host,  exasper- 
atedly. 

' '  Then  you  're  merely  tired  of  me  ? ' ' 
said  Miles.    "  I'm  sure,  if  I'd  known 


y  i 


h 


that  earlier— 
\    ' '  Oh,  go  to  the  dickens  ! ' '  growled 
ljunter.     ' '  Stay  if  you  want  to ! " 

"Not  where  I  am  not  wanted,"  re- 
plied Miles,  stiffly. 

"Look    here!"     bellowed    Hunter. 
"When   I   asked   you   out   here    you 

86 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

hemmed  and  hawed  around  unj^ 
thought  you'd  choke  yourself!  And 
then  you  said  you'd  try  it  for  a  week. 
"Well,  you've  been  here  ten  days.  If 
you  can  stand  it  longer,  I'm  glad  to 
have  you,  as  you  plaguey  well  know; 
wish  you'd  stay  all  summer.  But  I 
didn't  suppose  you  found  it  very  ex- 
citing here  after  Arizona  and  New 
Mexico  and  those  places.  If  you  want 
to  stay,  why — why " 


s  > 


"I  accept  your  apology,"  answered 
Miles,  with  dignity,  "and  I  will  stay  a  " 
little  longer.    As  for  excitement,  who^ 
cares  for  it  when  they  have  you,  old  ' 
man?    You  are  a  never-failing  sourc 
of  amusement." 

The  other  grunted  and  went  back  to 
his  writing.  Miles  winked  gravely  ai 
Bistre,  who  had  opened  one  eye  during 
the  discussion. 

"And  as  for  Maple  Green,"  went 
87 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


/  I 


on  Miles,  presently,  "it  really  isn't 
half  bad ;  a  bit  too  pastoral,  perhaps ; 
a  trifle  too  idyllic ;  but  still  rather  in- 
teresting.  Fact  is,  I'd  like  to  see  the 
place  when  the  flowers  are  out.  Do 
you  recollect  that  little  picture  you 
sent  me  two  years  ago,  the  one  of  the 
ouse  and  garden,  with  the  purple 
clematis  and  crimson  scrambler  and  a 
lot  of  other  truck?  Well,  that  reached 
me  down  at  Peterson's  Ranch,  when 
there  wasn't  a  blamed  thing  blooming 
except  alkali  and  the  only  vegetation 
in  sight  was  canned  tomatoes.  I  made 
up  my  mind  then  that  some  day  I'd 
see  Maple  Green  when  it  looked  like 
that  picture — if  it  ever  did !  Most  of 
the  boys  down  there  said  it  was  a  beau- 
tiful lie;  they'd  never  seen  anything 
like  it — except  'Slim'  Cooper;  'Slim' 
told  me  it  reminded  him  of  a  picture 
he  saw  once  that  came  with  a  Christ- 

88 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

mas  magazine,  the  Loudon  'Graphite,' 
he  thought  it  was!" 

Hunter  sealed  his  letter  and  applied 
a  stamp  to  the  envelope  with  a  thump 
that  made  the  dishes  rattle  in  the  next 
room. 

"  Besides,"  continued  Miles,  "I 
haven't  found  a  wife  yet.  You  know 
you  said " 

"If  that's  all  that's  keeping  you," 
growled  his  friend,  "you  might  as 
well  get  out.  The  Green  doesn't  offer 
much  choice  in  that  line." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  Miles  drawled. 
"There  are  the  Ruggleses!" 

"You  might  do  worse,"  chuckled 
Hunter,  as  he  lighted  his  pipe. 
"Which  one  has  caught  your  fancy?" 

"Well,  I'm  undecided.  The  fact  is, 
I  haven't  yet  reached  the  point  where 
I  can  tell  one  from  the  other !" 

"If  you  like,"   Hunter   suggested, 

jA^.         S9 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


J^ 


"we'll  drop  in  this  afternoon  and  you 
can  look  'em  over." 

' '  Heaven  forbid ! ' '  cried  Miles. 

After  luncheon  Hunter  fixed  himself 
comfortably  in  two  chairs  with  a  vol- 
_  ume  of  Victor  Hugo.  (Hugo  and 
Dumas  were  the  only  novelists  he  ever 
read,  if  we  except  Miles.)  His  guest, 
after  repeated  attempts  to  interest 
himself  in  a  magazine,  donned  a  rain- 
coat and,  with  the  devoted  Bistre  at 
heel,  went  out  for  a  walk.  It  still 
rained,  but  more  gently,  and  in  the 
east  patches  of  blue  sky  appeared  now 
and  then  behind  the  gray  clouds. 
Miles  turned  toward  the  settlement. 
The  road  was  empty  save  for  a 
farmer's  wagon  just  turning  into  a 
distant  lane.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
possibly  at  the  Maple  Tree  Inn  they 
sold  cigars.  Not  that  he  smoked 
cigars  very  often,  but  there  was  no 

90 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


harm  in  having  a  few  on  hand.  But 
when  in  front  of  the  little  stone  cot- 
tage occupied  by  the  Misses  Ruggles 
he  suddenly  changed  his  mind. 

Glancing  up  he  caught  sight  of  a 
face  at  one  of  the  windows.    He  doffed 
his  cap.    The  next  instant  he  realized 
that  he  had  bowed  to  neither  Miss  Ve 
ridian   nor   Miss   Anamife;     that,   in 
short,  the  face  at  the  window  had  been 
that  of  the  Princess.    But  already  he 
was  past  the  gate.     To   return  now 
would  look  awkward  at  the  least.    No, 
he  would  continue  his  walk,  return, 
and  call  on  the  Misses  Ruggles.     He 
had  taken  tea  with  them  and  it  was 
his  duty  to  call.    So  on  he  went,  with 
Bistre  trotting  along  behind,  as  far  as 
the  little  green-shingled  studio  where 
lived  the  uninteresting  Jenkins.  There 
he    turned    and    retraced    his    steps, 
striving  heroically  not  to  run. 

91 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


At  the  white-painted  door  with  its 
shining  brass  eagle  knocker  he  made 
Bistre  understand  that  he  was  to  re- 
main outside,  and  then  demanded  ad- 
mittance. It  was  Miss  Veridian  that 
answered  his  knock;  or  it  may  have 
been  Miss  Anamite;  Miles  refused  to 
commit  himself.  He  addressed  her  as 
"Miss  Buggies"  in  quite  his  most  win- 
ning manner,  said  he'd  dropped  in  to 
beg  a  cup  of  the  nectar  which  they 
dispensed  under  the  name  of  tea,  and 
in  a  moment  found  himself,  divested 
of  rain-coat  and  cap,  in  the  little  old- 
fashioned  parlor.  The  Misses  Bug- 
gies were  manifestly  pleased  and  flat- 
tered. Miss  Anamite — or  it  may  have 
been  Miss  Veridian — fluttered  fever- 
ishly to  the  tea-table,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  it  was  but  three  o'clock,  and 
fluttered  quite  as  feverishly  out  of  the 
room    bearing    the    gleaming    kettle. 


&m 


Miles  glanced  at  tlie  windows  and  tHe 
about  the  room.  His  heart  sank.  He 
was  alone  with  Miss  Veridian — or  it 
may  have  been  Miss  Anamite.  She  sat 
opposite  him,  very  straight,  on  the 
edge  of  a  fiddle-back  mahogany  chair, 
her  slim  white  hands  crossed  in  her 
lap,  and  beamed  coyly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Fallon,"  she  said,  "I  do 
wish  you  might  have  come  a  moment 
earlier,  just  a  wee  moment  earlier! 
We've  had  a  call  from  such  a  dear 
girl!  I'm  certain  you  would  have 
been  charmed ! ' ' 

' '  Indeed  \ ' '  answered  Miles,  striving 
to  keep  the  disappointment  he  felt  out 
of  his  voice.  "I'm  sorry  I.  didn't, 
Miss  Ruggles.  The — ah — the  young 
lad}T  has  gone  ? ' ' 

"Scarcely  two  minutes  ago,  Mr. 
Fallon.     Xot  more  than  two  minutes, 


I  think,  my  dear?': 

93 


This  to  Miss- 


L>1 


tN    ORCHARD   PRIN 

well,  to  the  other  Miss  Buggies,  wh 
had  wafted  in  with  the  kettle. 

' '  Oh,  surely  not  so  long  ago  as  that, 
dear,"  was  the  reply.  " Perhaps  a 
minute,  Mr.  Fallon.  One  is  so  liable 
to  err,  I  think,  in  the  matter  of  esti- 
mating time,  Mr.  Fallon.  Very  often 
one  says  a  minute,  meaning  in  reality 
a  much  shorter  period. ' ' 

"My  dear!"  murmured  the  other 
Miss  Buggies. 

"Oh,  quite  unconsciously,  so  to 
speak,  with  no  intention  of  deceiv- 
ing! It  is  only  that  sixty  seconds  is 
so  much  more  protracted  a  space  of 
time  than  we  realize,  my  dear."  She 
lighted  the  alcohol  lamp  and  seated 
herself  beside  the  table,  looking  across 
at  Miles  with  an  expression  of  arch 
excitement.  "There  is  such  an  in- 
teresting   experiment    one    may    try, 

Mr.  Fallon." 

94 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

' '  Indeed  I ' '  murmured  Miles,  sraqji 
interestedly. 

"Really !    You  take  a  watch — 

"Your  own  watch,"  interpolated 
the  other  Miss  Ruggles. 

"Of  course,  your  own  watch,  my 
dear !  You  take  a  watch,  and  you  ask 
some  one  else  to  count  the  seconds  up 
to  sixty." 

"The  other  person  doesn't  see  the 
watch,"  explained  her  sister. 

"No — that  is,  not  the  face  of  the 
watch,  my  dear.  Of  course,  there  is 
no  harm  if  the  other  person  sees  the 
bach  of  the  watch!  Then  you  begin  ^ 
when  the  second-hand  is  at  sixty  ana  i 
the  other  person  counts  one,  two, 
three,  and  so  on  until  he "  -  p,      4$ 

"Or  she,"  suggested  the  other  Miss 
Ruggles. 


&&j 


"Or  she,  of  course,  my  dear.    Until 
he  or  she  reaches  sixty.    You'd  really 

95 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


be  surprised,  Mr.  Fallon,  to  find  how 
seldom  the  person  who  is  counting 
estimates  correctly  the  duration  of  a 
minute !  They  usually  get  through 
long  before  the  second-hand  has  com- 
pleted its  circuit.  It  is  really  a  most 
nteresting  experiment ! ' ' 

' '  Most  interesting ! ' '  murmured  the 
other  Miss  Ruggles. 

"It  must  be,"  said  Miles,  politely. 
"I  shall  have  to  try  it  some  time." 

The  lady  at  the  tea-table  fingered 
the  watch  on  the  bosom  of  her  brown 
silk  waist  tremulously.  The  other 
Miss  Ruggles  frowned.  The  fingers 
fell  away  and  the  face  bent  over  the 
kettle  to  hide  the  blush  that  crept 
over  it. 

"But  vou  haven't  told  me  yet,"  said 
Miles,  "the  identity  of  the  charming 
voung  ladv. " 

"Whv,  so  I  haven't!" 
96 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"How  odd!"  The  Misses  Buggies 
looked  at  each  other  bewilderedly. 
The  one  at  the  tea-table  shook  her 
head  smilingly. 

"I  fear  you  are  growing  forgetful, 
Anamite  dear, ' '  she  sighed.  Miles  ex- 
amined the  other  Miss  Ruggles  in  the 
hope  of  discovering  some  feature 
whereby  he  could  thereafter  identify 
her  as  Miss  Anamite.  But  it  was  no 
use;  five  minutes  afterwards  he  was 
as  much  at  sea  as  ever.  Meanwhile, 
Miss  Anamite  was  explaining. 

"It  was  Miss  Lynde,"  she  said. 
' '  Such  a  sweet  girl !  So — so  interest- 
ing! She's  an  artist,  a  landscape  ar- 
tist, with  a  great  deal  of  talent. 
Shouldn  't  you  say  she  had  a  great  deal 
of  talent,  dear  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  undoubtedly,  my  dear!  A 
most  talented  girl,  Mr.  Fallon !  Quite 
remarkable,  I  call  her ! ' ' 

97 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


°*Mfe4 


"Miss  Lynde,"  repeated  Miles,  as 
though  searching  his  memory. 

"Yes,  quite  a  beautiful  girl,  with 
wonderful  golden  hair.  Do  say  you 
have  met  her,  Mr.  Fallon ! ' ' 

Miss  Anamite — or  was  it  Miss 
Anamite? — clasped  her  hands  ecstati- 
cally and  viewed  Miles  in  strained  sus- 
pense. 

"Well,  of  course,  I  may  have  met  a 
Miss  Lynde ;  in  fact,  I  am  almost  cer- 
tain that  I  have;  a  Miss — ah — Mary 
I^inde,  I  think." 

He  waited  craftily. 
>  "No,  you  haven't  met  her  then. 
But  you  must,  positively  you  must! 
She  is  staying  at  the  Inn.  If  you  do 
meet  her" — Miss  Anamite  Ruggles 
positively  giggled! — "if  you  do,  I'm 
almost  sure  we  shall  have  a  romance 
at  Maple  Green!"  She  beamed  ex- 
citedly at  her  sister. 

98 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"Yes,  indeed,  a  romance!"  echoed 
the  other  Miss  Ruggles. 

"You  have  certainly  aroused  my 
curiosity,"  replied  Miles,  gravely.  "I 
shan't  rest  until  I  have  seen  this 
charming  young  person.  I  shall  haunt 
the  Inn,  I  think,  until  my  eyes  are  re- 
warded with  sight  of  her." 

The  Misses  Ruggles  found  that  ex- 
cruciatingly humorous,  and  viewed 
each  other  delightedly. 

"So  clever,"  sighed  one  Miss  Rug- 
gles, admiringly. 

"Such  refreshing  humor,"  sighed 
the  other. 

And  at  that  moment  the  tea-kettle 
boiled  over  and,  with  subdued  excla- 
mations of  dismay,  both  Miss  Ruggles 
flew  to  the  rescue  of  the  embroidered 
table-cloth. 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  Miles 
reached   the   studio,   his   host   aw( 

99 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

with  a  mighty  yawn  and  glanced  at 
the  clock. 

"Where  the  dickens  have  you  been 
all  the  afternoon!"  he  asked. 

"You  won't  laugh  if  I  tell  you?" 
said  Miles. 

' '  Laugh  ?    Why  should  I  laugh  ? ' ' 

"Why  shouldn't  you?  I've  been 
taking  tea  with  the  Euggleses. ' ' 


2; 


VI 

This  morning  the  world  was  ablaze 
with  sunshine. 

When  he  had  left  the  studio,  Miles 
had  attributed  the  fact  to  the  un- 
dimmed  presence  of  the  sun ;  but  now, 
as  he  stood  beneath  the  last  tree  at  the 
summit  of  the  little  slope,  holding- 
back  the  branches  in  each  hand  lest 
they  give  warning  of  his  approach,  he 
pitied  himself  for  his  stupidity.  The 
world  was  ablaze  with  sunshine  be- 
cause the  Princess  wore  no  bonnet. 

She  had  placed  her  easel  nearer  the 
tinkling  brook  and  was  facing  ob- 
liquely the  opposite  rise  of  lush,  dew- 
gemmed  grass,  and  the  rim  of  low- 

101 


*7^ 

N   ORCHARD    PRINCES 


spreading  apple-trees.  Her  back  wa 
toward  him,  and,  with  a  warning' 
gesture  to  Bistre,  Miles  stood  there  a 
mpment  to  view — the  scenery.  Over- 
head fluffs  and  ribbons  of  creamy- 
white  clouds  sailed  about  on  a  sea  of 
blue,  wafted  by  a  prankish  breeze  from 
the  south.  Under  the  trees  the  ground 
was  splashed  with  pink  as  a  result  of 
yesterday's  rain,  and  now  and  then  a 
breeze,  swaying  the  branches  lazily, 
sent  little  showers  of  petals  floating 
through  the  air.  The  world  was  fresh 
and  clean  and  damp,  and  sweet  with 
the  odor  of  blossoms  and  of  drenched 
foliage.  The  sunlight  was  flashed  back 
from  millions  of  gems  in  rays  of  all 
colors.  Chrysoprases  and  tourma- 
lines gleamed  from  the  swaying  grass- 
blades,  pink  pearls  and  opals  shim- 
mered from  the  trembling  blossoms, 

,  emeralds    and    topazes    were    strung 

'  I  102 


\   V 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

along  the  young  branches,  diainAnJjg 
— faintly  blue  or  crystal-white — scin- 
tillated from  fairy  webs.  The  morn- 
ing was  aglitter  and  agleam,  musical 
with  the  songs  of  birds  and  bees  and 
heady  with  the  fragrance  of  spring. 

"  The  gold  of  the  April  sunshine, 
The  sweet  of  the  April  breeze, 
The  bluebird's  note  in  yonder  wood, 
The  droning  of  the  bees," 

quoted  Miles  under  his  breath.  ' '  And 
there  is  the  Princess,"  he  went  on. 
with  a  throb  at  his  heart,  "the  Or- 
chard Princess,  with  cheeks  like  the 
apple-tree  blooms,  eyes  like  the  blue 
sky,  and  hair  that  is  golden  sunlight.^8-  ( 
And  I — heigho !  I  might  as  well  hav^_ 
fallen  in  love  with  nature  herself;  she 
would  have  proved  kinder,  I  fear,  than 
the  Princess!" 

103 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


Then  lie  snapped  his  fingers  to  Bis- 
tre and  went  on  down  the  slope. 

As  before,  she  was  all  in  white, — 
white  as  fresh  and  clean  as  the  April 
morning  itself.  The  sleeves  of  her 
waist  were  pushed  back  to  her  elbows 
and  the  slim,  rounded  arms  gleamed 
ike  new  ivory.  A  white  linen  stock 
was  about  her  neck  and  the  ends  were 
thrown  over  one  shoulder.  The  white 
skirt  had  been  turned  up  across  her 
knees,  away  from  the  wet  grass,  and 
from  beneath  the  lace  of  the  under- 
skirt two  slender,  tan-clad  ankles 
moved  restlessly.  She  was  painting 
busily  in  an  effort  to  catch  the  tender 
tints  of  early  morning,  and  her  brush 
flew  eagerly  from  palette  to  canvas 
and  from  canvas  to  palette.  The  blue- 
checked  painting  apron  had  fallen  un- 
noticed from  her  lap,  her  cheeks  were 
flushed  a  deeper  pink  by  the  little  tur- 

104 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


moil  of  excitement,  and  her  hair, 
rising  in  a  wave  of  gold  from  her 
forehead  and  clustering  low  upon  her 
neck  in  thick  strands,  outshone  the 
sunlight. 

Miles  reached  her  side  unheard 
and  unseen,  and  paused  there  with 
a  sudden  little  gasp  for  breath.  Her 
beauty  assailed  him  with  almost  a 
physical  shock,  and  for  a  moment, 
as  his  eyes  dwelt  on  the  oval  cheek 
with  its  creamy  flush,  on  the  scarcely 
parted  lips,  on  the  little  ear  shad- 
owed in  golden  twilight,  his  heart 
performed  strange  antics.  And 
when  he  spoke  his  voice  fluttered 
absurdly. 

"You  are  early  this  morning,"  he 
said. 

She  turned  with  a  swift  glance — 
that  and  no  more — and  bent  again  to 
her  canvas. 

105 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


**«£* 


"Oh,  please!"  she  whispered, 
tensely.    "Just  a  moment!" 

Miles  drew  back.  Even  Bistre, 
sniffing  for  attention,  understood,  and 
sat  down  to  wait  patiently  for 
caresses.  For  a  long  minute  the  brush 
flew  here  and  there  in  short,  telling 
strokes  of  fresh,  vivid  green.  Then 
the  girl  paused,  sighed,  leaned  back, 

d,  with  a  tiny  start  of  recollection, 
turned  to  Miles.  Her  eyes,  wide  with 
fervor,  looked  into  his  for  an  instant 

questioningly.    Then, — 

.j 

"  Oh ! "  she  said.  Down  fluttered  the 
white  sleeves,  a  slim  hand  sought  her 
hair,  and  in  some  mysterious  way  the 
white  skirt  dropped  decorously  to  the 
ground.  "I — I  didn't  hear  you 
come,"  she  said. 

"No,  you  were  very  intent  on  your 
canvas."  In  spite  of  his  efforts,  his 
tone  held  a  suggestion  of  grievance. 

106 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


a 


I   hope    I  haven't    done    any   dam- 
age?" 

The  golden  head  shook  slowly. 

' 'No,  I  am  through  for  to-day ;  there 
is  no  more  I  can  do.  If  I  could  have 
had  just  another  half-hour,  another 
ten  minutes ! ' '  she  said,  wistfully. 

"I  sincerely  wish  I  were — what's- 
his-name,  the  Bible  chap,  you  know,  so 
I  might  command  the  sun  to  stand  still 
for  vou. " 

She  smiled. 

"That  might  be  dangerous,"  she 
said,  lightly.  "You  might  forget  the 
formula  for  starting  it  on  again. ' ' 

"Would  it  matter?"  he  asked, 
softly.  "To  have  it  always  like  this, 
fresh,  green  and  golden,  and  pink  and 
blue,  with  a  little  south  wind  stirring 
the  leaves,  and  the  birds  singing  their 
hearts  out,- — would  that  be  so  bad?" 

"I    wonder,"    she    said,    dreamily, 
107  r 


N   ORCHARD   PKlN€ESS^ 


looking   down   the   glade,   where   th 
sunlight  flashed  dazzlingly  on  the  rip^ 

es  of  the  brook.  "I  wonder!  It  is 
beautiful,  isn't  it  ?  The  world  seems  a 
rious  place,  doesn't  it?  All  sweet- 
ness and  softness  and  goodness,  with 
never  a  pain  nor  a  trouble.  And  yet, 
wouldn't  we  tire  very  soon  ?  Wouldn't 
we  sigh  for  gray  days  and — and — the 
rain  ?    Yesterday,  too,  was  beautiful. ' ' 

"I  didn't  fancy  it,"  said  Miles,  de- 
cisively. ''It  was  forty-eight  hours 
long  and — and  the  tea  was  bitter." 

The  girl  bent  farther  over  Bistre, 
who  was  having  his  head  rubbed, 
and  Miles  could  not  see  her  face. 
\  "That  was  rather  a  shabby  trick 
you  played  me,"  he  continued,  ag- 
grievedly. 

"I?"  she  asked,  without  looking  up. 

"You,"  answered  Miles,  sternly. 
"You  decoyed  me  into  the  Ruggles' 

10S 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS    f*\ 

studio,  and  then  meanly,  heartlessWJ 
left  me  to  the  mercies  of  Miss  Anamite 
and  Miss  Veridian.    And  I  drank  three 
cups  of  tea  that  I  didn't  want.    I  think 
I  was  hypnotized." 

"They  are  very  charming,''  said 
the  girl. 

"But — but  it  was  unkind,  now, 
wasn't  it?" 

"To  make  you  drink  tea  you  didn't 
want?"  she  asked,  innocently,  looking 
up  at  him. 

"To  run  away  as  you  did." 

"I  don't  think  so.     Pray,  Mr.  Fal- 
lon, how  was  I  to  know  that  you  wei 
going  to  call  ?    When  I  saw  you,  youg 
were  passing  by." 

Miles 's  courage  was  not  equal  to  thev_ 
situation.     Somehow  the  words  whien^^ 
came  to  him  did  not  seem  just  the  ones 
to  say  to  this  girl. 


s  > 


"Well,"  he  said,  weakly, 

109 


sup- 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


yjL 


pose  you  couldn't  know;  but  I  wish 
you  had;  perhaps  you'd  have  stayed 
— out  of  compassion.  Would  you,  do 
you  think  \ ' ' 

"No,"  she  answered,  shaking  her 
head  lightly,  "I  don't  think  I  would." 

' '  Then  you  are  not  compassionate  ? ' ' 

Again  came  that  little  cruel  shrug 
of  the  slim  shoulders. 

"I  really  don't  know,"  she  an- 
swered, as  though  the  subject  failed 
to  interest  her.  She  reached  out  with 
the  toe  of  one  tan  shoe  and  closed  the 
lid  of  the  battered  paint-box. 

"You — you're  not  going  so  early?" 
asked  Miles,  anxiously. 

"Yes,  I  am  through  for  to-day." 

"But — but   what's   the   use!     You 

won't  find  a  pleasanter  spot  than  this, 

Miss  Lynde.    And — the  fact  is 

got  something  awfully  impor- 

say — or  do." 

110 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


The  eyebrows  arched  themselves  in 
polite  surprise. 

' '  Really  ? ' '  she  asked.  ' '  Something 
important?  I'm  sure  I  can't  imagine 
what  it  is." 

"Then  stay  just  a  little  while  and 
learn,  won't  you !  Since  I've  had  such 
extraordinary  good  luck  as  to — er — 
stumble  on  you  this  morning " 

She  laughed  maliciously. 

"You  are  a  poor  fibber,  Mr.  Fal- 
lon," she  said. 

"No  one  ever  called  me  that  be- 
fore," he  replied.  "In  fact,  I've 
always  flattered  myself  that  I  was — 
well,  rather  good  at  lying." 

"Then  you  aren't  sustaining  your 
reputation  this  morning,"  she  an- 
swered, gravely.  "You  see,  I  hap- 
pened to  notice  you  on  your  porch 
when  Miss  Veridian  asked  where  I 
was  going  and  I  told  her." 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


"Oh,"  said  Miles,  lamely.  "Was — 
er — was  that  Miss  Veridian?" 

"Yes,"  the  girl  answered,  soberly. 
But  a  little  smile  flickered  at  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth,  and  Miles  took 
heart. 

"Well,  I  confess,"  he  said,  "and 
throw  myself  on  the  mercy  of  the 
court.    I  followed  you. ' ' 

The   court   acquits   you   on   your 
promise  never  to  do  it  again. ' ' 

"I  won't  promise.  I  prefer  to  be 
held  in  custody — by  the  court." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  go  to — to 
prison ! ' ' 

"Is  it  as  bad  as  that?  And  where 
is  the  prison!" 

"The  Ruggleses,"  she  answered, 
laughingly. 

He  shuddered. 

' '  I  throw  myself  on  the  mercy  of  the 
court ! ' ' 

112 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


"You've  already  done  that  once," 
she  remonstrated.  ' '  The  mercy  of  the 
court  is  worn  out.  To  prison  you  go, 
Mr.  Fallon!  And  you  are  sentenced 
to  a  week  of  tea  and  cakes  !" 

"It  would  be  far  more  merciful  to 
sentence  me  to  swift  death,"  he  an- 
swered. "Please  have  me  drawn  and 
quartered,  Miss  Lynde.  I  ask  it  as  the 
last  favor!" 

She  shook  her  head  unrelentingly. 

"You  have  heard  the  court's  de- 
cision," she  said.  "But  meanwhile 
punishment  is — what  do  you  say? — 
delayed  f ' ' 

"Revoked!" 

"No,  delayed.  And  so  you  can  tell 
me  of  the  important  matters  you  spoke 
of." 

"Thank  you."     Miles  seated  him- 
self cross-legged  on  the  ground  and"4 
produced   a   slip   of  paper   from  his 
8  113 


pocket.    "You  know  I  told  you  I  w 
going  to  learn  your  first  name  I" 

"You  said  so,"  she  answered, 
calmly. 

"Yes ;  well,  here  I  have  a  list,  care- 
fully copied  from  the  back  of  Mr. 
Brough's  dictionary,  of  all  feminine 
names  beginning  with  P. ' ' 

1 '  Really  ?  You  must  have  been  dull 
indeed  yesterday ! ' ' 

"I  shall  read  them  off,"  continued 
Miles,  unheeding  of  her  sarcasm,  "and 
you  will  kindly  answer  when  your 
name  is  reached.''  There  was  no  re- 
ply, and  he  looked  up.  "You  will, 
won't  you?" 

"No,  I  think  not,"  she  said,  smiling 
mockingly. 

"But  that  isn't  fair!" 

"Isn't  it?" 

"Think — think    of   the    labor    I've 


been  through ! ' ' 


114 


\  > 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

Jet 

' '  Not  at  my  suggestion. ' '    ^^t  _5$ 
He  observed  her  a  moment,  search-  / 
ing  the  blue  eyes — a  not  unpleasant* 
process — for  signs  of  relenting.     He 
found  none  and  turned  to  the  paper. 

"Before  I  begin,"  he  announced^\" 
briskly,  "I  should  like  to  say  that 
there  is  one  name  which  I  have  been 
— that  is,  which  I  have  mentally  ap- 
plied to  you  since  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  meeting  you  a  week  or  two 
ago ' ' 


"Four   days,"   corrected   the   gi 
dryly. 

"Which,  while  it  may  not  be 
title  with  which  you  were  christen 
suits  you  admirably. ' ' 

"And   that    is?"    she   asked,   wiSr 
elaborate  indifference. 

"That  you  must  guess  for  vour- 
self,"  he  answered,  maliciously. 
"Unless,   that  is   to   say,  unless  you 

115 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


will  exchange  your  name  for  mine — 
I  mean !" 

"It  sounds  like  a  proposal  of  mar- 
riage," she  said,  composedly.  In 
spite  of  her  self-possessed  gravity, 
she  enjoyed  his  confusion. 

"I — I  have  no  desire  to  retract  it," 
he  stammered,  wishing  his  cheeks 
were  not  so  red.  But  she  shook  her 
head. 

"It  would  be  cruel  to  hold  you  to 
it,"  she  answered,  kindly.  "Pray 
continue;  you  were  saying?" 

"I  meant  to  say  that  I  would  tell 
you  the  name  I  have  given  you  if  you 
would  tell  me  your  real  one." 

"I  haven't  sufficient  curiosity,"  she 
replied,  coldly. 

' '  Very  well,  then. ' '  Miles  went  back 
to  the  paper.    "Patience?" 

He  looked  up.  Her  eyes  met  his  un- 
flinchingly. 

116 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


"Not  Patience,  then.     Patty?" 

No  reply. 

"Paula?" 

"Pauline?" 

' '  Penelope  ? ' ' 

' '  Persis  ? ' '   He  asked  it  hesitatingly. 
Then  — 

"Thank    Heaven!"    he    muttered. 
"Not  Persis!" 

A  smile  crept  across  her  face. 

"Phillipa?      No?      Thank    heaven 
again ! ' ' 

"Phoebe?" 

"Phyllis?"     He  watched  her  anx- 
iously. 

"Polly?      It's    not    so   bad,    Polly. 
No?    Very  well." 

"Priscilla?" 

She  still  looked  back  at  him  mock- 
ingly.   He  took  a  deep  breath,  and,— 

' '  Prudence ! "    he    whispered,    ten- 
derly. 

117       C 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


The  blue  eyes  flickered  once  and  the 
pink  deepened  by  just  a  shade  in  the 
cheeks. 

"Prudence!"  he  said  again,  his 
voice  dwelling  softly,  lovingly,  on  the 
word.    She  arose  quickly  to  her  feet. 

"I  am  going  now,  if  you  are  quite 
through  your  important  matters!" 

"Prudence!"     he     begged.        She 

fried  on  him  accusingly. 

' '  You  asked  some  one ! ' '  she  cried. 

"I  didn't!"  he  answered,  triumph- 
antly. ' '  I  guessed  it !  I  knew  it  was 
your  name  at  once;  something  told 
me !    Pru— 


j } 


"I  forbid  you  to  say  it  again!"  she 
flashed.  ' '  It  is  my  name,  and  you  have 
no  right  to  call  me  by  it ! " 

"I  won't,"  he  answered,  cheerfully, 
"now  that  I  have  found  out.  But — 
may  I  say  that  I  like  it,  that  it  suits 
you  as  no  other  name ?" 

118 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


( ( 


Xo,  you  may  not,"  she  answered, 
severely. 

"Very  well.  But  you  will  let  me 
help  you  back  with  this  stuff?"  he 
asked,  penitently. 

"I  don't  need  any  assistance,  thank 
you,  Mr.  Fallon." 

"But  it's  too  much  for  you,  Miss 
Lvnde !    Please  let  me— 


i  •> 


"Please  star  where  you  are,"  she 
replied,  with  dignity. 

"Oh!"  said  Miles. 

She  folded  the  easel,  took  it  under 
her  arm,  lifted  the  paint-box  and  can- 
vas, and,  without  further  notice  of 
him,  walked  down  the  glade  toward 
the  road. 

Miles  stood  and  watched  her  until 
she  was  out  of  sight  among  the  trees 
at  the  end  of  the  glade.  Then,  with 
Bistre  trotting  sleepily  along  at  heel, 
he  strode  home,  whistling  blithely. 

119 


VII 


The  next  morning  his  world  was 
nipped  with  frost.  The  Princess  was 
very,  very  busy,  quite  too  busy  to  look 
away  from  the  canvas  when  he  said 
' '  Good-morning. ' '  She  answered  in  a 
cold,  absent-minded  way  and  went  on 
with  her  work.  Even  Bistre  seemed 
to  feel  the  chill  in  the  atmosphere 
and  held  doubtfully  aloof.  Miles  sat 
down  on  a  spot  of  rather  wet  grass 
at  a  respectful  distance  and  filled  his 
pipe. 

"May  I  smoke?"  he  asked. 

"Pray  do  just  as  you  like." 

' '  It  will  not  annoy  you  ? ' ' 

"Not  in  the  least."  (Strange,  by 
the  way,  isn't  it,  how  some  words  spell 
one  thing  and  apparently  mean  quite 
another  ?  For  example,  in  the  present 
case  what  the  words  really  conveyed 
was,  "Pray,  sir,  do  you  think  for  a 
moment  that  anything  you  could  do 

120 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS     f*\ 

would  have  the  power  of  affecting  1 
in  the  least  little  bit?")  4 

"A  beautiful  morning?"  observed 
Miles,  most  ingratiatingly.  There  was 
no  reply. 

"I  was  afraid  last  evening  we  were 
going  to  have  rain."    Silence. 

"Er — weren't  you?" 

"No." 

"But  perhaps  you  didn't  notice  the 
clouds?"    No  answer. 

"Did  you?" 

"No." 

"It  looked — er — quite  threatening 
But  the  sunset  was  certainly  wano. 
More  silence. 

"You     noticed     the      sunset, 
course  ? "  v^ 

"No— yes!"  \m*  *4 

"Then  perhaps 


> 1 


a 


;Mr.  Fallon,  I  am  very  busy,  and     C_ 
talking  disturbs  me. ' ' 

121 


J  ufi 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


*     i 


"I  beg  your  jDardon,  Miss  Lynde." 
Miles  frowned  over  his  pipe, 
glancing  furtively  from  time  to  time 
at  the  provoked  Princess.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  color  in  her  cheeks  this 
morning,  and  the  little  droop  of  the 
lips  was  emphasized;  but  at  the  same 
me  the  straight  nose  looked  ex- 
tremely haughty  and  a  tiny  crease 
which  was  stationed  above  it,  like  a 
signal  indicating  stormy  weather, 
made  Miles  uneasy.  He  wished  she 
wasn't  angry  with  him.  Then  he  won- 
dered why  she  was  angry.  Finally  he 
decided  that  she  had  no  reason  for 
being  angry ;  as  he  was  inexperienced 
in  such  matters,  he  did  not  understand 
that  a  woman  has  the  privilege  of 
being  angry  without  reason.  Eeally, 
he  told  himself,  he  had  done  nothing 
out  of  the  way;  it  was  quite  absurd; 
i^e  would  put  an  end  to  it ! 

122 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"If  I  have  done  anything  to  dis- 
please you,  Miss  Lynde,"  he  an- 
nounced, with  dignity,  "I  am  very 
sorry.  I  assure  you  I  had  no  intention 
of — of  doing  it." 

"You  haven't,  Mr.  Fallon."  The 
tone  was  frightfully  polite.  Miles 's 
frown  deepened. 

' '  I  gathered  from  your  manner  that 
I  had." 

"Not  at  all." 

"Oh!" 

The  birds  trilled  and  fluttered 
amidst  the  trees.  The  tireless  bees 
sang  their  sleepy  tune.  Bistre,  hunt- 
ing squirrels  down  near  the  road, 
barked  impatiently.  But  in  spite  of 
these  sounds,  the  silence  seemed  op- 
pressive. Miles 's  frown  grew  into  a 
scowl.    He  arose. 

"I  fear  my  presence  annoys  you, 
Miss  Lynde,"  he  said,  coldly.     There 

123 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


was  a  slight  uplifting  of  her  eyebrows 
which  might  have  meant  most  any- 
thing disagreeable.  "I  am  sorry. 
Good-morning. ' ' 

' '  Good-morning, ' :  said  Prudence, 
pleasantly,  without  looking  around  at 
him.  He  had  taken  a  dozen  steps  up 
the  slope  when  she  called  to  him. 

''Mr.  Fallon." 
^'Miss  Lynde?" 

' '  There  is  something  I  want  to  say. 
Would  you  mind  waiting  just  a 
moment  ? ' ' 

"Not  at  all,"  he  murmured.  She 
laid  down  her  brush  and  turned 
toward  him.  Her  face  held  no  proim 
ise  of  pardon. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  won't 
please  stop — coming  here." 

"  Certainly, ' ;  he  answered,  coldly. 
"I  regret  that  my  presence  is  so  ob- 


noxious 


?  j 


121 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


The  color  deepened  in  her  face. 

"That,"  she  replied,  calmly,  "has 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  If  you  wish  to 
waste  your  time  that  is  your  own  af- 
fair, but  my  time  is  valuable,  for  my 
painting  means  bread  and  butter. 
Besides,  it  looks — it  looks  very  fool- 
ish." 

It  was  his  turn  to  redden.  The 
flames  leaped  into  his  cheeks. 

"I  quite  understand,  Miss  Lynde," 
he  answered,  in  a  low  voice  that  was 
not  quite  steady.  "I  beg  you  to  rest 
assured  that  you  will  not  be  troubled 
any  further  in- — that  way." 

He  bowed.  To  a  third  person,  had 
there  been  one  present, — of  course, 
Bistre  isn't  counted, — that  bow  would 
have  looked  highly  absurd,  but  neither 
he  nor  she  was  in  a  mood  to  appreciate 
humor.  She  returned  the  bow  with  a 
dignified  bend  of  her  head. 

125 


N    ORCHARD 

'Please  don't  misunderstand  me, 
she  said.  ' '  I  lay  no  claim  to  this  spo 
of  course,  and  were  you  a  painter — if 
you  came  here  to  work — I  would  have 
no  objection  to  offer.  But  as  it  is,  as 
this  particular  locality  means  no  more 
to  you  than  any  other ' ' 

"No  more,"  echoed  Miles,  politely. 

"And  as  there  are  so  many  other 
places  quite  as  attractive- 


>  > 


' '  Fully  as  attractive, ' '  agreed  Miles. 

"I  think  I  am — justified  in  asking 
you  to — to  cease  coming,  at  least  while 
I  am  here. ' ' 

"You  are  quite  within  your  rights, 
Miss  Lynde.  Believe  me,  I  shall  re- 
spect them  carefully.  Good-morning, 
l\(tiss  Lynde." 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Fallon." 

Of  course,  it  was  all  absolutely 
ridiculous,  but  to  Miles,  pushing  his 
way   through    the    apple-blooms    to- 

126 


I 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

ward    the    lane,    puffing    savageJ^**t 

;m   empt}    pipe,  and   with   his  cneeks       *V%j 

afire,  it  didn't  seem  so.  '  It  was  very    ^ 

tragic. 

That  evening  he  announced  his  in- 
tention   of   going   back    to    the    city,  f  ^ 
Hunter  Brough  took  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth,  examined  it  attentively  for  a 
moment,  and  said, — 

"Suit  yourself,  Miles.    I'd  ask  you 
to  stay,  but  I  don't  believe  I  could 
stand  you  many  days  in  your  present 
condition.    I  don't  know  what  in  thu 
der  is  the  matter  with  you,  and  v 
won't  tell  me,  but " 

' '  Why  should  there  be  anything 
matter  with  me?"   demanded   Miles, 4 
crossly.  ^ 

"Give  it  up,  my  boy.    But  theref's. 
When  a  man  walks  around  the  shop  all 
day  like  a  caged  bear  and  growls  like^ 
one  there  must  be  something  wrong. 

127 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


/ 


And  it  must  be  either  one  of  two 
things;   either  he's  in  love " 

" Don't  be  a  fool!"  snapped  Miles. 

"Well,  I  don't  suppose  it's  that,  for 
you  haven't  been  near  the  Ruggleses' 
place  for  two  days,  so  far  as  I'm 
aware,  and  unless  you've  been  doing 
the  Narcissus  act  and  falling  in  love 
with  your  own  reflection " 

"Oh,  cut  it  out!"  said  Miles, 
wearily. 

"Very  well,  it  isn't  that,  then.  So 
it  must  be  your  liver.  If  you'll  just 
do  as  I  told  you  and  take  a  few  of 
those  pills,  you'll  be  all  right.  I  dare 
say  it's  living  so  much  down  there  in 
the  Southwest.  That's  a  bad  place 
for  livers,  I've  heard.  I  used  to  know 
a  chap  who  was  in  the  cavalry  down 
at  Fort " 

But  his  auditor  had  flown. 

Presently  Hunter  followed  him  out 
128 


/ 


AN    ORCHARD 

ou  to  the  porch  with  his  guitar.    W)\4^\ 
looked  desperately  from  his  host  to 
the  instrument.     Then, — 

' '  Hunter, ' '  he  announced,  sombrely, 
' '  if  you  play  that  damned  thing  I  '11 — 
I  '11  strangle  you ! ' ' 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast 
Hunter  looked  across  from  the  letter 
he  was  reading  and  asked, — 

"By  the  way,  what  train  are  you 
thinking  of  taking?" 

"None,"  answered  Miles,  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Oh !  I  understood  you  to  say  yes- 
terday— 


?> 


"Of  course  you  did,  but  don't  let  it 
bother  you.  I  don't.  I've  changed  my 
mind. ' ' 

"Oh,  you've  changed  your  mind?" 

"Exactly;  one  can  do  that,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"Some    folks    can — quite    often, '; 

9  129 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


answered  the  artist,  with  a  basso 
chuckle. 

''You  be  hanged!"  muttered  Miles. 
"Pass  the  omelet." 

"Maybe  if  you  were  kind  of  careful 
about  what  you  ate  for  a  day  or  two 
your  liver " 

"There's  nothing  the  matter  with 
my  liver,"  answered  Miles,  impa- 
tiently.   Hunter  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  not  so  sure.  You  didn't  eat 
any  luncheon  to  speak  of  yesterday, 
and  not  much  supper,  and  I've  no- 
ticed  " 

"You  notice  a  whole  lot  that  you 
can't  see." 

"All  right,  my  boy.  Anyhow,  I'm 
glad  you've  found  your  appetite 
again." 

"I  haven't,"  said  Miles. 

"Oh,  haven't  you?" 

"No,  I  haven't.  And  let  me  advise 
130 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


you,  Hunter,  not  to  try  sarcasm;  it 
doesn't  suit  you;  when  you  attempt 
it  you  remind  me  of  an  elephant  trying 
to  waltz.  Is  there  any  more  coffee 
there ! ' ' 

After  all,  reflected  Miles,  as  he  set 
forth  aimlessly  along  the  road  after 
breakfast,  after  all,  there  was  no  good 
reason  why  the  vagaries  of  a  girl  he 
had  never  seen  until  a  few  days  ago 
should  cut  short  his  visit  to  Hunter 
Brough.  He  had  told  Hunter  he 
would  stay,  and  it  wouldn't  be  fair  to 
disappoint  him.  Besides,  Maple 
Green  was  far  pleasanter  than  the 
city.  As  for  Miss  Lynde — well,  she 
had  been  nothing  to  him  a  week 
ago,  so  why  should  he  allow  her  to 
trouble  him  now  ?  It  was  bally 
nonsense,  that's  what  it  was!  Any 
fellow  that  would  let  a  yellow-haired 
girl  with  pink  cheeks  and  blue  eyes 

131 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


make  him  miserable  must  be  plumb 
locoed ! 

By  which  time  he  had  reached  the 
lane. 

Bistre  turned  in  unhesitatingly. 
Miles  paused.  Of  course,  he  had  no 
idea  of  trespassing  on  that  forbidden 
territory;  still,  merely  to  walk 
through  the  orchard  and  have  a  look 
round  was  not  prohibited.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  she  was  not  there  this 
morning. 

But  she  was.  When  he  reached  the 
edge  of  the  trees  he  saw  her  at  her 
easel,  her  golden  hair  agleam  in  the 
morning  sunlight.  Half  screened  by 
the  blossom-laden  branches,  he  stood 
and  looked  down  at  her.  And  as  he 
looked  she  laid  aside  her  brush  and, 
taking  her  chin  into  the  curled  palm  of 
one  white  hand,  sat  looking  past  her 
canvas  for  all  the  world  as  though  the 

132 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


light  was  riot  growing  every  instant 
and  the  precious  moments  wasting 
away.  Plainly,  work  did  not  go  very 
well  this  morning!  And  as  Miles 
watched  he  wondered  why  he  had  ever 
entertained  the  idea  of  tearing  himself 
away  from — Hunter  ! 

Presently,  with  a  start,  Prudence 
turned  again  to  the  canvas,  picked 
the  brush  from  the  ledge  of  the  easel, 
and  set  to  work.  But  there  was  none 
of  the  enthusiasm  she  had  shown  when 
the  picture  was  started.  The  brush 
moved  slower  and  slower  until  once 
more  she  was  idle,  her  gaze  on  the  blue 
rim  of  the  distant  hills  seen  at  the  end 
of  the  glade.  Suddenly  Miles  turned 
his  observation  from  the  Princess  to 
Bistre.  The  latter  was  half-way  down 
the  slope,  trotting  toward  Prudence 
with  his  stump  of  a  tail  wagging  ex- 
citedly. 

133 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


''Bistre!"  whispered  Miles, 
hoarsely.  "Bistre,  come  back  here, 
you  fool  dog!" 

But  the  fool  dog  didn't  hear,  or, 
hearing,  paid  no  heed.  Miles  crept 
back  out  of  sight  among  the  trees 
and  watched  through  a  crevice  in  the 
foliage.  Bistre  trotted  straight  to 
Prudence  and  pawed  at  her  dress. 
Prudence  turned  sharply  to  him  and 
then  swept  the  slope  swiftly  with  her 
gaze.  Probably  she  was  relieved  to 
find  no  one  in  sight.  She  raised  the 
delighted  Bistre  on  to  the  lap  of  her 
white  skirt  and  kissed  the  beauty  spot. 
For  several  minutes  Bistre  listened 
attentively  to  her  remarks  and  luxu- 
riated in  her  caresses.  Then  he 
jumped  to  the  ground  and  came  duti- 
fully back  up  the  slope,  Prudence 
watching  him. 

Miles  had  flown. 

134 


VIII 


The  next  morning  when  the  Prin- 
cess crept  through  the  breach  in  the 
wall  where  the  brook  goes  gurgling 
under  the  road  and,  with  easel,  paint- 
box, and  canvas,  began  the  ascent  of 
the  glade  she  met  with  a  shock.  There, 
not  a  dozen  feet  from  her  chosen  spot, 
was  an  easel,  and  in  front  of  the  easel 
was  a  man.  He  wore  a  brown  velvet 
jacket,  a  dark  blue  beret  sat  rakishly 
over  one  ear,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke 
hung  about  his  head.  Prudence's 
heart  sank.     She  had  hoped  to  finish 

135 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


her  canvas  this  morning  while  the 
bright  weather  continued,  but  now  she 
was  tempted  to  turn  back.  She  did 
not  feel  like  talking  "shop"  with  the 
unknown  painter.  She  wondered  at 
the  chance  which  had  led  him  to  this 
particular  spot.  Perhaps,  though,  he 
lad  painted  here  before.  His  back 
was  toward  her  and  she  could  not 
catch  even  a  glimpse  of  his  face.  She 
was  certain  it  was  not  Mr.  Taft,  nor 
Mr.  Link,  nor  yet  Mr.  Simpkins.  But 
one  or  two  new-comers  had  been 
rumored  of  at  the  Inn,  and  perhaps 
the  usurper  was  one  of  these.  She  set 
down  her  paint-box  to  rest  her  arm 
and  untied  the  strings  of  her  sun- 
bonnet  to  allow  the  little  breeze  to 
reach  her  flushed  cheeks. 

But  what  an  uninteresting  view  he 
had  selected !  He  had  placed  his  easel 
where    only    a    shadowed    group    of 

136 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


apple-trees  confronted  him,  without 
contrast  of  light  and  shade.  Per- 
haps, she  thought  ruefully,  he  was 
Parrel,  the  man  who  painted  masses  of 
unrelieved  green  foliage  and  called 
his  productions  "schemes."  He  was 
an  odious  little  man  with  a  yellow 
Vandyke  beard,  who  talked  steadily 
about  himself  and  his  work  as  long  as 
there  was  any  one  to  listen.  Prudence 
turned  irresolutely  toward  the  road 
again.  But  the  next  glance  told  her 
that  the  man  in  front  of  her  was  far 
too  broad-shouldered  for  Farrel.  In 
fact,  there  was  something  dimly  famil- 
iar about  that  back,  in  spite  of  the 
brown  velvet.  And  while  she  strug- 
gled with  memory  the  man  leaned  back 
in  front  of  his  untouched  canvas, 
waved  a  mahl-stick  gayly  back  and 
forth,  and  sang  in  time  to  it  in  a  fairly 
good  tenor, — 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

"  The  Bachelor !     The  Bachelor ! 
Te  ti  de  dum  te  de ! 
Whose  cares  are  few,  whose  friends  are  true, 
Whose  peace  holds — tra-la-le  !" 


A  flood  of  warm  color  rushed  into 
the  Princess 's  face  and  a  smile  chased 
away  the  expression  of  doubt.  She 
stood  for  a  moment  watching  the  mahl- 
iick  wave  and  the  blue  smoke  go 
writhing  up  in  the  sunlight.  And  as 
she  looked,  as  though  to  dispel  any 
lingering  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of 
the  person  at  the  easel,  Bistre  trotted 
into  sight  with  lolling  tongue  and  cast 
himself  down  at  the  man's  feet.  Pru- 
dence took  up  her  paint-box  and 
went  on. 

"  God  bless  the  jolly  Bachelor, 
Who's  ever  blithe  and  gay; 
Who,  when  he  won't,  my  lad,  he  don't, 

And  when  he  would,  he " 

138 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


The  song  broke  off  abruptly  and 
Miles,  upsetting  his  canvas  stool, 
bowed  politely. 

''Good-morning,"  he  said.  "What 
a  charming  day  for  our  work ! ' ' 

Prudence,  conquering  her  desire  to 
laugh,  returned  his  salutation  with  a 
little  bend  of  her  head. 

"Allow  me!"  cried  Miles.  She 
silently  yielded  the  easel,  and  he  set 
it  in  place  with  much  care,  placed 
the  canvas  upon  it,  and  opened  her 
stool. 

"I  feared  you  were  not  coining,"  he 
said.  "And  I  was  sorry,  for  the  light 
is — is  perfect.  I  have  set  the  easel 
right?" 

"Mr.  Fallon,  you  promised  not  to 
do  this !"  she  said,  coldly. 

"To  do V 

"To  come  here." 

"Miss  Lynde,  that  promise — if  it 
139 


\ 


ORCHARD 

J 
wa^  a  promise,  which  I  am  not  pre 

,  parea  to  grant  you — was  made  during 

a  moment  of  mental  aberration,  and 

would  not  hold  in  law." 

"Indeed?    And  will  you  please  tell 

me  what  you   are   doing  with  those 

things  and  that  ridiculous  garb?" 

Ridiculous!"  cried  Miles,  in  hurt 

tones.    ' '  Why,  I  rather  fancied  myself 

in  these  garments !     To  be  sure,  the 

cap  was   bought   for   a   much   larger 

head  and  the  coat  doesn't  fit  as  well 

as    it   might    across    the    chest;     but 

ridiculous  \     You   have   wounded   me 

sorely,  Miss  Lynde!" 

' '  They  belong  to  Mr.  B rough  ? ' ' 

"They  do;    likewise  the  easel,  the 

paint-box,  the  canvas,  the  stool,  and — 

and  the  brushes.   The  mahl-stick  is  my 

own.     I  cut  it  from  a  willow  tree  on 

the  way  hither.     Would  you  like  to 

see  it?" 

140 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"No,    thank   you,    it    looks    rat 
sticky." 

"It  is;  mahl-sticky.  Thank  you  for 
smiling  at  that." 

"I  didn't  smile,"  she  denied. 

"To  be  truthful,  you  didn't;  but  I 
thought  you  were  going  to,  so  I 
thanked  you  in  advance. ' ' 

"And  what,  pray,  are  you — going  to 
do  with  them?" 

She  indicated  the  easel  and  its  ac- 
companying articles. 

"Paint,"    answered    Miles,    cheer- 
fully.     "You    know    you    said    you 
wouldn't  object,  if  I  were  a  painter,  t 
my  coining  here. ' ' 

"But  you're  not  a  painter;   you'r 
just  pretending!"  s*. 

"Miss  Lynde!     Is  that  fair,   is  xi^^ 
generous?     Because  I  am  not  a  fin-  ((\ 

ished   artist   like   you,   is   it   kind   to       C. 
throw  my — my  mediocrity  in  my  face 

141 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


I  am  an  amateur ;  I  have  never  taken 
money  for  painting  a  picture." 

"Oh!"  she  sighed,  with  a  little  re- 
luctant laugh.  "You  are  incorrigi- 
ble!" 

"I  am!"  he  answered,  gratefully. 
"Thank  you  for  saying  so." 

She  seated  herself  and  opened  her 
box. 

"If  you  are  going  to  paint,"  she 
said,  "don't  you  think  you  had  better 
be  about  it  '? ' ' 

"  Oh !  To  be  sure.  Thank  you  for 
reminding  me;  for  a  moment  I  had 
completely  forgotten  that  I  was  a 
painter. 

' '  What  are  you  going  to  do  1 " 

"Do?    Why,  paint." 

"I  mean  what  are  you  going  to 
paint  I ' '  she  explained,  as  she  set  fresh 
color  on  her  palette. 

"Oh,   I    think,"   he    replied,   care- 

142 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


lessly,  "I  shall  do  a  landscape  this 
morning.  Just  a  little  trifle,  you 
know;  something  sympathetic  and — 
and  atmospheric.  You  see,  I  don't 
confine  myself  strictly  to  one  branch 
of  my  art;  sometimes  I  do  marines, 
sometimes  still  life,  sometimes  flow- 
ers, quite  frequently  portraits;  I'm 
rather  good  at  portraits."  He  looked 
interestedly  at  the  profile  she  pre- 
sented to  his  view.  "But  this  morn- 
ing— well,  a  mere  trifle  of  landscape, 
I  think."  - 

"I  see,"  she  answered,  gravely. 
"But  don't  you  think  you  could  select 
a  more  interesting  view  than  you 
have?" 

"No,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  watch- 
ing her  face.  "No,  I  rather  like  the 
view.     I  have  seldom  seen  a  lovelier 


one. 


j  i 


"Indeed?    Apple-trees  and  grass  in 
143 


N   ORCHARD   PRINCES 

deep   shadow.     Hm!     How   are   yo 
going  to  treat  it  ? " 

"I  hope,  Miss  Lynde,"  he  replied, 
with  dignity,  "you  don't  think  me 
capable  of  treating  even  a — er — land- 
scape otherwise  than  courteously ! ' ' 

"Well,  hadn't  you  better  begin?" 
she  asked,  viewing  her  own  subject 
with  half -closed  eyes. 

' '  Perhaps  I  had.  Uin-m-ni,  let — me 
— see."  He  looked  through  the  odds 
and  ends  contained  in  the  discarded 
box.  ' '  Do  you  happen  to  have  a  piece 
of  charcoal  that's  not  working?  I 
seem  to  have  omitted  my  charcoal  this 
morning.  I  always  prefer  to — er — 
just  sketch  in  a  little  before  I  stick  on 
the  paint." 

"Here  is  a  piece,"  she  answered. 
He  looked  rather  disappointed,  but 
arose  and  took  it  from  her  out- 
stretched   hand    and    seated    himself 

144 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

again  before  his  easel.  He  eye 
charcoal  and  the  canvas.  Then  he 
half  closed  his  eyes  and  squinted  at 
the  apple-trees.  As  this  didn't  seem 
to  produce  the  desired  inspiration,  he 
curled  his  fingers  together  as  he  had 
seen  folks  do  in  a  picture  gallery  and 
looked  through.  ' '  Ah, ' '  he  murmured, 
' '  I  think  I  see  a  tree. ' ' 

Presently  Prudence  glanced  toward 
him. 

"Mr.  Fallon,  are  you  doing  a  por- 
trait this  morning  \ ' ' 

"Oh,  no,"  he  answered,  confusedly 
"A  landscape." 

' '  Then  don 't  you  think  it  might  help 
you  if  you  looked  at  the  landscape  in- 
stead of  me  1 ' ' 

' '  I — I  was  thinking, ' '  he  said,  apolo? 
getically. 

She  looked  at  the  empty  canvas  and 
then  at  him. 

10  145 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"No,  I  haven't  started  yet,"  he  ex- 
plained, airily.  "I — I  think  I've  lost 
my  charcoal." 

"You  have  it  in  your  hand,"  she 
said,  dryly. 

"Why,  so  I  have!"  He  looked  at 
it  in  surprise.  "Er- — does  it  always 
come  off  on  the  fingers  ? ' ' 

"Generally,"  she  replied,  turning 
back  to  her  work. 

"I  think  I'll  just  wash  my  hand," 
he  announced.  "I  always  like  to  have 
clean  hands  when  I  start  to  work." 
He  arose,  followed  by  the  attentive 
Bistre,  and  by  careful  management 
reached  the  brook,  rinsed  his  hands  in 
the  water,  dried  them  on  Bistre's  back, 
and  returned  to  his  seat.  Then  he 
lighted  his  pipe,  consuming  a  deal  of 
valuable  time  in  the  process  and  hum- 
ming the  song  about  the  bachelor. 
That  operation  completed,  he  looked 

146 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


thoughtfully  at  the  canvas,  stealing  an 
occasional  glance  at  the  Princess.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  passed. 

"How  are  you  getting  on!"  asked 
Prudence,  politely,  without  looking 
across. 

"Oh,  famously!  I — I  am  almost 
ready  to  start." 

"But  you  haven't  done  a  thing 
yet ! ' '  she  cried,  in  simulated  surprise, 
viewing  the  canvas. 

"No,  not  yet.  You  see,  I  have  to 
wait  for  inspiration.  Quite  frequently 
it  doesn't  come  for— hours  !" 

"Mr.  Fallon,''  she  said,  sternly, 
"you  came  here  on  pretence  of  paint- 
ing. If  you  don't  paint,  I  must  insist 
that  you  go  away  again." 

"I  don't  like  the  sound  of  that  word 
'pretence,'  "  he  answered,  shaking  his 
head  grievedly. 

"Then  you  must  do  something." 
147 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"Well,"  lie  answered,  ingenuously, 
' '  what — what  would  you  advise  ? ' ' 

"I'd  advise  you  to  start. ' ' 

"Yes,  I  had  thought  of  that,"  he 
agreed.  "I  suppose  it  might  be  best 
to  start.  Onlv — where  would  vou 
start?" 

"I  didn't  agree  to  give  you  instruc- 
tion, Mr.  Fallon." 

"Oh,  certainly  not!  I  don't  ask  in- 
struction ;  merely — er — advice,  assist- 
ance." 

"Oh,  well,  why  not  sketch  in  your 
trees  there ! ' ' 

"Would  you?"  he  asked,  interest- 
edly.   She  nodded. 

* '  How  would  you  do  it  ? " 

She  arose  quickly  and  crossed  the 
grass  to  him. 

' '  Get  up,  please,  and  let  me  have  the 
crayon. ' ' 

He  obeyed.     Seating  herself  on  the 

148 


SHE    AROSE    QUICKLY    AND    CROSSED    THE    GRASS    TO    II 1 M 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

stool,  she  sketched  in  rapidly  the  out- 
line of  the  apple-trees,  indicated  the 
trunks  and  the  ground  with  a  few 
short  strokes,  and  arose. 

' '  There, ' '  she  said,  handing  back  the 
charcoal,  ''that's  the  way  I'd  do  it." 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered, 
gravely.  "Now  I  can  go  to  work, 
can't  I?" 

"I  should  think  so,"  she  answered, 
going  back  to  her  own  canvas.  "But, 
do  you  know,  I  think  perhaps  you  had 
better  stick  to  the  other  lines  you  af- 
fect? Landscape  doesn't — I  hope  you 
won't  mind  my  saying  it,  Mr.  Fal- 
lon  " 

"Please  be  perfectly  candid,"  he 
begged. 

"Landscape  doesn't  appear  to  be 
your  strong  point." 

"I  have  sometimes  thought  that, 
too,"  he  answered.     "I  think  maybe 

149 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


I'd  better  do  a  portrait  this  morning 
instead."  He  looked  attentively  at 
her. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  replied,  "I  think  I'd 
go  ahead  with  the  landscape,  if  I  were 
you,  now  that  you've  got  it  sketched 


in 


i  ? 


"Well,"  he  said,  doubtfully.  "Al- 
though my  inspiration  to-day  seems  to 
lean  toward  portraiture.  Still,  if  you 
think  best " 

"I  do." 

"Then  I'll  take  your  advice."  He 
seated  himself  again  on  his  stool,  re- 
lighted his  pipe,  winked  gravely  at 
Bistre,  and  pulled  the  paint-box  to- 
ward him  by  the  simple  expedient  of 
putting  his  heel  in  it.  "I  will  now, ' '  he 
announced  calmly,  "set  my  palette." 
A  moment  passed.  Then,  "Haven't 
got  any,"  he  murmured,  surprisedly. 
"Bistre,  I  haven't  got  any!" 

150 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCES^  V 

"Haven't    got    any   what f " ^fed*A  ( 
Prudence.  /\?^ 

"Haven't  got  any  palette,"  lie  an- 
swered, in  the  voice  of  one  over- 
whelmed and  dazed  by  a  great  calam- 

"Then  I  fear  you  won't  be  able  to 
do  much  this  morning,"  she  said, 
struggling  with  a  smile. 

"No,  I  fear  not,"  he  answered,  dole- 
fully.   ' '  And  just  when  I  was  about  to   /|p 
do  a  veritable  masterpiece,  too !    How 
cruelly  Fate  toys  with  us !    Now7  jusft* 
because  Hunter  neglected  to   suppl 
me  with  a  palette,  the  world  loses  a' 
great  painting !     I  was  going  to  ca 
it ' ' — he  sank  his  voice  to  a  confidential    ^ 
whisper — "I    was    going    to    call    n*"^ 
1  Apple-Trees!'  " 

"A  most  original  title!"  she  ex- 
claimed, evidently  quite  impressed. 

"Isn't  it?     And  now — now  it  will 
151 


I  /> 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

never  be !    And  I  suppose" — lie  spoke 

sorrowfully- — ' '  I  suppose  I  shall  have 

%  go,  now  that  I  can't  paint." 

Prudence  laid  down  her  brush  and 

vfaced  him  smilingly. 
^Mr.  Fallon!" 

"Miss  Lynde?" 

"You  are  absolutely  ridiculous!" 

He  bowed. 

"You  don't  keep  your  promises  and 
you  won't  be  serious.  And  I  don't 
suppose  there  is  any  use  in  my  trying 
to — to  keep  you  away — from  here. ' ' 

"Honestly,"  he  answered,  cheer- 
fully, "I  don't  believe  there  is." 

"Therefore,  as  I  am  through  my- 
self, I  will  leave  you  to  undisputed 
possession  of  this  spot  you  seem  so 
fond  of." 

She  laid  her  palette  and  brushes  in 
her  box  and  arose.  So  did  Miles.  So 
did  Bistre. 

152 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

"Well,  I'm  through  myself,"  said 
Miles.  "And  so,  if  you  don't  mind, 
I'll  just  walk  back  with  you  and  carry 
your  things." 

"But  you've  got  your  own  things," 
Prudence  demurred. 

"Those?  Oh,  I'll  just  leave  those 
here — until  to-morrow ! ' ' 


They  took  a  walk  that  evening, 
Miles  and  Hunter  and  Bistre.  There 
was  a  saffron  glow  in  the  west,  while 
low  in  the  sky  hung  a  crescent  moon, 
its  earthward  point  entangled  in  the 
topmost  branches  of  a  maple-tree  on 
the  summit  of  the  dark  ridge.  They 
paused  for  a  moment  to  converse  over 
the  fence  with  the  Misses  Ruggles, 
who,  wearing  gauntleted  gloves  and 
armed  with  trowels,  were  transplant- 
ing a  brood  of  window-grown  helio- 
tropes from  pots  to  beds.  Later  they 
indulged  in  conversation  en  passant 
with  the  Tafts  regarding  the  weather. 
Still  further  along  they  saw  the  re- 

154 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

nowned  Merrill  Link  smoking  a  ciga^' 
on  his  porch,  and  were  cheerecP  by 
a  condescending  bow  from  the  great 
one.  The  uninteresting  Jenkins  was 
training  a  wistaria  vine  on  to  a 
trellis;  from  the  Beatties'  cottage 
issued  the  soft  strains  of  God- 
dard's  Second  Waltz.  Miles  didn't 
know  it  was  that,  but  it  seemed  of  a 
piece  with  the  quiet  beauty  of  the 
evening  and  made  his  heart  beat  a 
little  faster;  and  he  would  have 
lingered  within  sound  of  the  piano 
had  not  Hunter  drawn  him  forcibh 

on. 

< '  It 's  murder, ' '  he  growled.  ' '  Come 
on,  for  heaven^s  sake!" 

"I'm  glad  I'm  not  musical,"   said 
Miles.     "One's  range  of  pleasure 
so  much  broader  if  one  hasn't  a  culti- 
vated ear.     Now  I,  in  my  ignorance, 

liked  that." 

155 


\  > 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"That's  not  ignorance,"  replied 
Hunter,  grimly.     "It's  depravity." 

When  they  reached  the  Maple  Tree 
Inn  they  found  the  porch  deserted,  but 
up-stairs  four  windows  were  alight. 

"Must  be  some  one  staying  here," 
said  Hunter. 

"Er — yes,"  answered  the  other,  ab- 
sently.   ' '  I  dare  say. ' ' 

On  the  way  back  Miles  talked  of  the 
Southwest.  When  he  cared  to  he  could 
talk  well,  could  draw  graphic,  colorful 
pictures  of  places  and  scenes,  and 
Hunter  enjoyed  listening. 

"Maybe  this  fall  or  winter  I  can 
manage  to  run  down  there  for  a  month 
or  two,"  said  Hunter.  "I  suppose 
your  invitation  still  holds  good!" 

"Surely,  only " 

'Only  what?" 

"Well,  my  plans  aren't  quite  cer- 

' '  It  may  be  that 
156 


ain,"  he  answered 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

I'll  be  in  the  East  a  good  deal  this 
winter ;  in  New  York.  But  I  dare  say 
we  can  arrange  for  a  month  or  so 
down  there  together." 

"I'd  like  to  try  my  hand  at  that 
country, ' '  mused  Hunter. 

When  they  reached  the  studio  Miles 
dropped  on  to  a  seat  on  the  porch. 

"Get  your  guitar,"  he  suggested; 
and  when  Hunter  had  obeyed  and  had 
tuned  it  to  his  liking,  "Sing  me  that 
thing  about  the  wind  and  tide,"  he 
said. 

"Wind  and  tide?"  muttered 
Hunter.  "Oh,  yes!"  His  heavy  fin- 
gers crept  slowly  over  the  strings,  and 
he  began,  softly, — 


"  The  world  is  very  wide,  dear, 

The  heavens  very  high, 

And  save  the  winds  and  tide,  dear, 

'Tis  I  alone  know  why, 

'Tis  I  alone  know  why. 

157 


The  heav'ns  so  far  above, 
That  you  might   understand,  dear, 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

"  The  earth  was  made  so  grand,  dear, 


How  wide  and  deep  my  love, 
How  wide  and  deep  my  love." 


N 


> 


When  lie  had  finished  there  was 
silence  for  a  moment.  Then  Miles 
tapped  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 

"To-morrow,"  he  said,  thought- 
fully, "is  the  first  of  May." 

"What  about  it?"  asked  the  artist. 

' '  Oh,  I  don 't  know.  It  seems  rather 
wonderful,  that's  all." 

"Wonderful!"  grunted  the  other. 
' '  Why  wonderful  ?  Doesn  't  it  usually 
come  at  about  this  time  of  year  ? ' ' 

' '  I  dare  say ;  but  I  never  noticed  it 
before." 

"By  the  way,  how  did  you  get  on 
with  your  painting  to-day?"  asked 
Hunter. 

158 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"I  didn't  do  very  much,"  Miles 
answered,  gravely.  Then  lie  smiled 
happily  in  the  twilight.  "But  to- 
morrow!" he  said,  dreamily.  "To- 
morrow  ! ' ' 


/J> ' 


It  may  have  been  imagination,  but 
to  Miles  it  seemed  that  Xature  had  put 
on  festal  attire  in  honor  of  May. 
Surely  the  birds  had  never  sung  so 
lustily,  surely  the  sunlight  was 
brighter,  the  leaves  greener,  the  sky 
bluer  than  ever  before.  The  world 
was  in  May  Day  mood  and  his  heart 
was  in  tune. 

He  reached  the  glade  early.  The 
shadows  were  still  long  across  the 
grass  and  the  dew  drenched  his  ankles. 
The  easel  and  stool  stood  where  he 
had  left  them,  and  he  sat  down  and 
filled  his  pipe  and  waited.  Bistre 
trotted  busily  about  through  the  long 

160 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


grass,  sneezing  and  coughing,  in 
search  of  the  adventure  that  never 
befell. 

The  tobacco  in  the  bowl  burned 
down  and  gave  place  to  new.  The  sun 
rose  higher  and  higher.  The  shadows 
shortened  and  deepened.  The  song  of 
the  birds  died  away  by  degrees  as 
noontime  approached.  But  the  Prin- 
cess did  not  come.  At  eleven  o'clock 
Miles  gave  up  hope  and,  carrying  his 
easel  and  stool  and  box,  returned  dis- 
appointedly to  the  studio.  Hunter 
had  just  returned  from  a,  sketching  ex- 
pedition and  was  studying  the  result 
of  his  labor  when  Miles  entered. 

"Hello,"  he  said.  "Let's  see  the 
canvas." 

"I  didn't  work  this  morning,"  an- 
swered'Miles,  dejectedly.    "The  light 
wasn  't  good. ' '    Hunter  chuckled. 
kToo   bad,"   he    said.      And 
161 


x 


ll 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"By  the  way,  there's  a  note  there  on 
the  table  for  you.  I  found  it  when  I 
came  in." 

"For  me?'  asked  Miles,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"Well,  it's  addressed  to  you.  But 
maybe  it's  meant  for  me;  maybe  the 
lady  was  too  shy  to  write  to  me 
direct. ' ' 

Miles  bore  the  note  to  the  window 
and  studied  it  with  smiling  eyes.  The 
square  white  envelope  with  the  green 
maple-tree  in  the  corner  told  its  own 
story.  "Mr.  Fallon,''  was  the  in- 
scription, and  he  viewed  it  delight- 
edly; he  had  never  seen  his  name 
look  just  like  that  before!  And  how 
beautiful  the  tall,  scrawly  writing 
was !  Then  he  carefully  slit  the  en- 
velope and  drew  forth  the  single  sheet 
it  contained. 

Presently  Hunter,  having  leaned  his 

162 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


canvas  against  the  wall,  broke  the 
silence. 

<  <  Well, ' '  he  asked,  '  <  what  is  it  ?  An 
invitation  to  tea  with  the  Ruggleses? 
Or  has  some  fair  unknown  fallen  cap- 
tive to  my  charms  and  begged  you  to 
intercede  in  her  behalf?" 

"No,"  answered  Miles,  quietly. 
"It's  just — just  a  note." 

He  dropped  it  into  his  pocket  and 
turned  silently  to  the  window.  Hun- 
ter  viewed  him  curiously.  Presently 
Miles  turned,  took  his  cap  from  the 
table,  and  passed  out.  Hunter 
watched  him  leave  the  garden  and 
turn  westward  along  the  road.  Bis- 
tre, left  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  door, 
whined  dolefully. 

"No,  you  stay  here,  old  chap,"  said 
his  master.  "I  don't  believe  you're 
wanted  this  time."  He  thrust  his  big 
hands  into  his  pockets   and  scowled 

163 


ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

down  at  the  noisy  little  stream, 
wonder  what  there  was  in  it,"  he  mut- 
tered, "to  make  Miles  look  like  that." 
Meanwhile,  seated  on  the  top  of  a 
wall  farther  along  the  sunlit  road, 
Miles  was  reading  the  note  again. 


Jff- 


"  I  am  leaving  Maple  Green  this  morning  for 
home.  My  vacation  is  finished.  I  didn't  tell 
you  this  yesterday  when  you  left  me  at  the  Inn, 
why,  I  hardly  know.  But  this  morning  it  seems 
rude  to  go  away  without  saying  good-bye  to 
one  of  the  few  acquaintances  I  have  here.  And 
I  have  something  else  to  say  which  is  awfully 
difficult.  Please  don't  try  to  see  me  again.  You 
see  I  am  assuming  that  you  would  have  cared  to 
do  so.  I  may  be  mistaken,  and  I  hope  I  am,  for 
friends  are  not  so  many  that  I  can  drive  one 
away  without  regret.  I  have  enjoyed  your  ac- 
quaintance and  I  shall  watch  for  your  books 
eagerly,  and  shall  read  them  with  a  new  interest, 
proud  to  think  that  mine  was  the  honor  of 
\  \  being  present  at  the  inception  of  the  author's 
first  painting.  I  shall  always  feel  sorry  for  the 
world  since  it  has  missed  that  masterpiece !    But 

164 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

this  is  nonsense  and  not  at  all  what  I  started 
out  to  write. 

"  I  am  a  very  busy  young  person  and  I  don't 
get  around  the  world  much,  and  so  I  don't  think 
we  shall  meet  again.  But  please  remember,  if 
you  care  to  do  so,  that  I  am  wishing  you  all 
sorts  of  success— the  kind  that  doesn't  know 
discouragement ! — and  all  happiness. 
"  Sincerely, 

"  Prudence  Lynde." 


Miles  slowly  put  the  note  back  in  its 
envelope  and  dropped  it  in  his  pocket. 
Then  he  sat  for  a  long  while  staring 
bewildered] y  at  the  dusty  road.  It 
seemed  such  a  queer  sort  of  thing  to 
have  happened.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  that  he  might  fail.  He  had 
fallen  in  love  with  the  Princess  sud- 
denlv  and  thoroughlv  and  with  no 
thought  as  to  results ;  it  had  been 
enough  to  see  her  and  listen  to  her 
voice;     there    had    been    no    looking 

165 


tm 


s 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


ahead,  no  weighing  of  possibilities  nor 
probabilities.  And  now  the  irides- 
cent bubble,  blown  in  the  sunlight,  had 
vanished. 

He  strove  to  imagine  what  life  was 
going  to  be  without  her.  Of  course, 
ultimately  he  would  cease  caring; 
luman  nature  was  like  that ;  but  even 
then,  he  fancied,  he  would  always  feel 
that  he  had  been  cheated  out  of  some- 
thing rightfully  his.  And  until  the 
time  to  cease  caring  came  he  was 
going  to  care  very  much.  Already 
things  were  changed,  he  thought, 
wonderingly ;  the  sunlight  had  faded ; 
the  blue  sky  no  longer  looked  its 
best;  the  vines  and  bushes  along  the 
road  were  dusty  and  bedraggled  like 
a  sloven's  skirt;  the  breeze  held  a 
chill. 

If  only  she  had  left  him  a  ray  of 
hope,  no  matter  how  dim.     Had  she 

166 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


forbidden  him  to  seek  her  he  might 
have  disobeyed  the  command,  accept- 
ing the  consequences  cheerfully.  But 
a  request  was  a  different  matter; 
there  was  no  getting  by  that  word 
"please!"  Still,  he  thought,  miser- 
ably, why  quibble  about  that?  The 
sum  of  it  all  was  that  to  her  he  was 
merely  "one  of  the  few  acquaint- 
ances!" Doubtless  he  had  amused 
her — when  he  had  not  provoked  her — 
and  for  that  she  had  written  him  a 
civil  note  of  farewell  as  she  might  have 
tossed  a  coin  to  a  mountebank.  What 
a  fool  he  had  been!  What  a  silly- 
acting  ass!  As  though  a  woman's 
heart  could  be  won  with  jokes  and 
grimaces ! 

Presently  he  began  to  consider  what 
he  should  do.  To  stay  on  here  at 
Maple  Green,  to  be  reminded  every  in- 
stant of  her,  was  out  of  the  question ; 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


the  fragrance  of  apple-blossoms  even 
now  brought  an  ache  to  his  heart ;  the 
sunlight  on  the  trunk  of  the  birch 
across  the  road  reminded  him  of  the 
gold  of  her  hair.  The  first  thing  to  do 
was    to    get    away   from    the    Green. 

After  that ?     He  wondered  what 

other  men  had  done  in  like  quandaries. 
In  books  they  went  to  war  or  sea  or 
st  themselves  in  dim  corners  of  the 
world.  Sometimes  they  were  killed, 
usually  with  the  girl's  name  on  their 
lips ;  sometimes  they  came  back  after 
many  years  and  found  the  girl  unmar- 
ried or  widowed  and  ready  to  fall  into 
their  arms.  Miles  smiled  grimly.  He 
hadn't  any  desire  to  be  killed;  neither 
Africa  nor  Thibet  nor  South  America 
appealed  to  him.  He  supposed  what 
a  sensible  man  would  do  would  be  to 
"buck  up" — to  use  the  phrase  occur- 
ring to  him — and  go  ahead  with  his 

168 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


work,  whatever  it  might  be,  aud  not 
make  a  fool  of  himself!  At  all  events, 
nothing  was  to  be  gained  by  grumbling 
at  Fate. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  studio 
Hunter  was  just  sitting  down  to  lunch- 
eon. Miles  took  his  place  at  tjie  table, 
trying  to  behave  as  though  the  very 
bottom  of  things  hadn't  suddenly 
fallen  out.  Hunter  eyed  him  furtively, 
but  asked  no  questions.  He  knew 
Miles  pretty  well.  After  the  meal  was 
done  the  two  men  lighted  their  pipes. 
Hunter  dragged  a  pile  of  old  canvases 
out  of  a  cupboard  and  began  sorting 
them  over.  Miles  threw  himself  on  the 
long  window-seat  and  Bistre  climbed 
to  his  lap.  The  nasturtiums  in  the  box 
outside  waved  their  green  disks  of 
leaves  in  the  breeze.  At  last  Miles  sat 
up  and  scraped  the  tobacco  from  his 
bowl. 

169 


v_> 


''Prudence  Lynde?  Yes,  I  know  her 
a  little.  She  studied  with  me  one  win- 
ter a  few  years  ago.  A  beautiful  girl 
with  some  talent.    What  about  her?'; 

' '  Tell  me  what  you  know  of  her. ' ' 

"What  I  know  of  her?  Um-m; 
that  isn't  so  much.  Our  relations 
were  only  those  of  teacher  and  pupil. 
What  shall  I  tell  you,  old  chap!" 

"Whatever  }tou  think  will  interest 
a  man  who  loves  her,"  answered 
Miles,  quietly. 

Hunter  stared.  Then  he  puffed  vig- 
rously  at  his  pipe. 

"Where  did  you  meet  her?"  he 
as%ed. 

"Here." 

' i  Prudence  Lynde  here  ?  Ah,  I  see ; 
at  the  Inn.  And  so  you've  met  her 
and  fallen  in  love,  Miles.    Well,  well ! ' ' 

170 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

He   stuffed  the   ashes   down  into 
bowl  with  a  pudgy  forefinger.     ^S 
is  still  here?" 

"No,  she  left  this  morning.  That 
note  was  from  her." 

' '  She — refused  you  ? ' ' 

"I  never  asked  her.  And  the  note 
practically  informs  me  that  I  may  just 
as  well  save  myself  the  trouble." 

"Well,  well!"  said  Hunter  again, 
sympathetically.  "Er— isn't  there 
any  more  to  tell,  old  chap  ?" 

"I  suppose  there  is;  but  what's  the 
use?      Do    you    recollect    telling    me 
awhile  ago  that  what  I  needed  was 
singe  my  wings?     Well,  I've  done  it 
Hunter.     The   effect   may   be   educa 
tional,  but  it's  damned  unpleasant!" 

"I'm   sorry,"   growled   his   fi 
He   set  himself  on  the   other   end 
the  window-seat  and  puffed  silently  a      Q 

moment.    Then, — 

171 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"Prudence  Lynde  is  the  daughter  of 
Fergus  Lynde,"  he  said.  "You  prob- 
ably don't  recall  him;  he  was  a  bit 
before  your  time.  He  was  one  of  the 
foremost  landscape  painters  in  this 
country  until  perhaps  fifteen  years 
ago.  Then  he  had  a  paralytic  shock, 
which  left  him  absolutely  helpless.  He 
is  still  alive,  but  I  believe  he  has  been 
bedridden  for  years.  Prudence  is  an 
only  child.  Her  mother  died — well, 
three  or  four  years  ago.  She — I  mean 
the  girl — was  studying  in  Paris  at  the 
time.  She  came  home,  and  since  then 
has  been  painting  landscapes.  I've 
seen  her  work;  she  has  some  of  her 
father's  talent,  but  not — not  enough. 
Still,  she  sells,  I  believe,  fairly  well. 
Her  pictures  have  the  right  feeling, 
Miles,  but  they're  a  little — weak.  The 
wonder  is,  though,  that  she  does  as 
well  as  she  does,  for  she  has  her  father 

172 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


to  look  after,  and  a  bedridden  man 
must  be  a  terrible  burden.  He  can't 
even  feed  himself,  they  sav.  A  terri- 
ble  fate,  that !  I  have  one  of  his  can- 
vases in  town.  Perhaps  you  recall  it ; 
over  the  mantel  in  the  big  room;  a 
small  thing;  a  hill-side  with  a  storm 
just  passing  over  and  the  sun  break- 
ing through  a  piled-up  mass  of  ragged 
clouds  ?  No  ?  A  wonderful  bit !  And 
worth  a  lot  of  money.  He  wasn't  pro- 
lific, and  there  aren't  many  of  his  pic- 
tures to  be  found.  The  Metropolitan 
has  three,  I  think,  and  there  are  per- 
haps half  a  dozen  more  in  this  coun- 
try in  private  collections.  When  he 
had  his  trouble  a  number  of  canvases, 
most  of  them  unfinished  things  and 
sketches,  were  sold  at  Buell's  Gal- 
leries for  his  benefit.  I  got  mine  there. 
Things  went  pretty  well,  for  we 
wanted  to  help  him  out. ' ' 

173 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"And  she  looks  after  him,  alone?" 
asked  Miles. 

"Except  when  she  gets  off  for  a 
week  or  two  now  and  then,  as  she  did 
this  time.  Then  she  has  an  attendant 
come  in.  I  don't  suppose  there 's  much 
money.  Probably  she  makes  all  they 
have.  A  very  attractive  girl  I  thought 
her.  She  was  popular,  too,  at  the 
passes ;  they  called  her — what  was  it! 
Ah,  yes,  the  Princess." 

"The  Princess!"  muttered  Miles. 
I  "Yes,  she  had  a  way  about  her.  .  .  . 
And  then  her  hair,  you  know!  The 
Princess,  yes,  that  was  it.  She  was 
with  me  only  one  winter.  Then  she 
went  to  Paris;  I  gave  her  letters.  I 
think  she  was  doing  very  well  there 
when  her  mother  died  and,  of  course, 
she  had  to  return.  I  haven't  seen  her 
for  a  year  or  two,  I  think.  She's  as — 
as  beautiful  as  ever,  Miles  ? ' ' 

174 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"Yes,"  answered  the  other,  grimly. 
' '  I  think  she  must  be. ' ' 

"I  don't  blame  yon,  then;  'pon  my 
sonl  I  don't!  She  was  only  about 
eighteen  when  she  came  to  me,  but  she 
had  every  boy  there  on  his  knees  to 
her,  I  fancy  ! ' ' 


"And  did  she — was  she- 


?" 


"Not  that  I  know  of;  she  seemed 
too  busy  for  affairs,  I  think."  There 
was  silence  for  a  moment.  "And  this 
note,  Miles?" 

Miles  took  it  from  his  pocket  and 
tossed  it  along  the  seat. 

"Read  it,"  he  said.  Hunter  did  so, 
scowling  and  puffing  thick  clouds  of 
smoke  from  under  his  ragged  mous- 
tache. When  he  had  finished  he  re- 
turned the  paper  to  its  envelope 
thoughtfully.  M* 

"Well,  she  used  to  be  a  girl  who 
knew  her  own  mind,   old  chap,"  he 

175 


/  £*  > 


■X-" 


/ 


6rchard  princess  Sk:. 


c 


said,  finally.  "But,  just  the  same' 
I  wouldn't  give  up  hope.  There's 
something  queer  about  that  note ;  it 
doesn't    sound    quite — quite    conclu- 


sive. 


> ' 


"It  does  to  me,"  laughed  Miles,  bit- 
terly. 

' '  You  let  her  know — she  understood 
that  you — cared  for  her!" 

"She  must  have  known,  although — 
oh,  hang  it,  Hunter,  I  acted  like  forty 
kinds  of  a  jackass  !  I  don't  know  what 
she  thought ! ' ' 

"How  often  did  you  see  her?" 
"Almost  every  day  for  a  week;  I — 
'   \    I  haunted  her ! ' ' 

"Then  I  guess  she  had  an  inkling," 
■     said  Hunter,  sagely.    ' '  Women  gener- 
ally know  pretty  early  in  the  game. 
\    How  did  she  treat  you,  Miles?" 

"She  was — she  treated  me  better 
than  I   deserved.     I   behaved  like   a 

176 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS  f* 


I    thought— s 


clown !      Sometimes 
might  care — in  time. ' 

"Well,  don't  give  up  now,  man. 
AVhen  you  see  her  again " 

"That's  just  what  I  shan't  do, 
don't  you  see?  She  asks  me  not  to 
try." 

"We-ell,"  said  Hunter.  "Maybe. 
But " 

"And  you've  just  told  me  that  she's 
a  girl  who  knows  her  own  mind ! ' ' 

"Yes,  but  no  woman  knows  her  own 
mind  all  the  time,"  responded  the 
other,  oracularly.  "Take  the  benefit 
of  the  doubt." 

"I  can't.    Oh,  there's  no  use  tryin 
to  deceive  myself.      It's  as  plain  as 
daylight  that  she  doesn't  care  for  mev. 
I  think  I  bothered  her  a  good  deal** 
perhaps  bored  her!     The  one  decent         ;k 
thing  that's  left  me  to  do  is  to  respect    ^ 
her  wishes.    Oh,  there's  no  use  grum- 

12  177 


s 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

bling,  Hunter;  I  dare  say  I  can  take 
my  medicine  with  a  grin — after  a  day 
or  so.  But  just  now" — lie  shook  his 
head  bewilderedly — "just  now  I'm  all 
in  a  heap.  The  whole  thing — seeing 
her — falling  in  love — and  this  note — 
has  been  so  darned  sudden!  I  feel — 
well,  I  sort  of  feel  as  though  I  had 
been  bucked  from  a  broncho  and  had 
come  down  hard ! ' ' 

"Sorry,  Miles,"  grunted  Hunter. 
"And  of  course  there's  nothing  I  can 
say. ' ' 

"No,  I  guess  not,  thanks,  old  chap." 

"Except  to  tell  you  to  take  it  as 
decently  as  you  can  and  not  to  lose 
hope  altogether.  Women  are  plaguey 
uncertain,  Miles ;  you  can't  tell;  I've 
seen  queer  things  in  my  time. ' ' 

Miles  gave  a  shake  to  his  shoulders 
and  stood  up. 

"For  a  bachelor,  Hunter,"  he  said, 

178 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

with    a    smile,    "you're    too    know- 
mg. 

"Think  so?'  responded  the  artist. 
"Did  you  ever  see  a  horse-race  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  which  do  you  think  had  the 
better  view,  you  or  the  horses!" 


XI 


Miles  shook  the  dust  of  Maple 
Green  from  his  shoes  two  days  later. 
Hunter  and  Bistre  accompanied  him 
to  the  station  in  the  Inn  carryall  and 
said  good-by  on  the  platform.  Bis- 
tre was  wise,  and  from  the  moment 
Miles  had  started  to  throw  things  into 
the  big  yellow  bag  he  had  scented  a 
parting.  And  he  had  haunted  his 
friend  like  a  shadow  from  that  mo- 
ment to  the  last,  his  brown  eyes 
watching  every  movement  and  his 
stump  of  a  tail  wagging  on  the 
slightest  provocation. 

"I'm  mighty  sorry  to  be  leaving 
you,   old   fellow,"   Miles   confided  to 

ISO 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

him.  ' '  You  see,  Bistre,  you  were  there 
every  time;  you  saw  her,  just  as  I 
did ;  she  scratched  your  head  for  you, 
too.  Yes,  and  once  she  kissed  you 
right  here  ou  this  ugly  old  spot  of 
yours,  just  as  I'm  doing,  Bistre.  Oh, 
hang  it  all,  Bistre!  The  world's  gone 
plumb  wrong,  hasn't  it?  It's  taken 
the  Princess  away,  our  Princess,  Bis- 
tre; I  don't  mind  sharing  her  with 
you,  old  chap;  I  think  you  liked  her 
pretty  well,  too,  didn't  you?  Do  you 
remember  her  eyes,  Bistre?  And 
those  little  red  lips?  I  wonder — I 
wonder,  if  she  knew  you  and  I  were 
feeling  so  rotten  bad,  whether  she 
wouldn't  be  just  a  little  bit  sorry  for 
us!  You'll  probably  see  her  some 
time,  you  and  your  master.  If  you  do, 
Bistre,  you  make  her  remember  me. 
Do  vou  hear?"  he  demanded,  in  a 
fierce  whisper.    ' '  Make  her  remember 

181 


j-mt- 


me,  Bistre.     Tell  her  I  loved  her 
loved  her!     Tell  her — —     No,  don 
tell  her  anything,   old  fellow.     Or — 

ell,  if  she  should  ask,  tell  her  I'm 
taking  my  medicine  like  a  man. 
That 's  all  you  need  tell  her.  And  now, 
for  heaven's  sake,  stop  looking  so  woe- 
begone !  Buck  up,  you  sentimental  old 
rascal ! ' ' 

"Try  and  come  down  for  a  week  or 
so  in  the  fall  if  you're  still  around 
here,"  said  Hunter,  as  they  shook 
hands.  ' '  And  don 't  forget  that  you  're 
to  come  to  my  place  when  you're  in 
the  city.  I'll  write  to  you  along  in 
September,  if  I  don't  see  you,  and 
we'll  arrange  for  that  trip.  I  want  to 
se^e  some  of  those  cobalt  skies  you  yarn 
about,  and  the  pink  mesas,  and  all  the 
other  impossibly  colored  things  down 
there.    Good-by!    Get  down,  Bistre!" 

Miles  tarried  in  the  city  just  short 

182 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

of  a  fortnight.  Once  or  twice  during 
that  time  he  almost  broke  his  resolu- 
tion. Passing  along  the  Avenue  he 
frequently  stopped  at  one  of  the  cross 
streets  to  look  wistfully  along  its  sun- 
smitten  pavements.  Once,  late  at 
night,  he  turned  into  the  forbidden 
thoroughfare  and  had  approached 
within  a  block  of  her  house  before  he 
pulled  himself  up.  Then,  after  a  hard 
struggle,  he  turned  back. 

"There's  to  be  no  compromise,"  he 
told  himself,  sternly.  "Either  you're 
going  to  keep  to  the  letter  of  the  law 
or  you're  going  to  turn  traitor;  and 
if  you  do  that  you  don't  deserve  Chris- 
tian burial ! ' ' 

But  always  there  was  the  unac- 
knowledged hope  that  some  day — on 
the  street,  in  a  store  or  a  car — he 
would  meet  her.  But  he  never  did. 
And  when  June  came  he  was  trudging 


**N 


• 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


about  the  Canadian  Northwest  with  a 
pack  on  his  shoulders. 

In  September  he  was  back  in  New 
York,  a  little  thinner,  a  little  more 
tanned,  a  little  more  resigned.  He 
didn't  run  out  to  Maple  Green,  how- 
ever; the  scar  was  not  yet  healed 
'enough  for  that.  But  Hunter  came  to 
town  for  a  day  and  a  night,  and  the  old 
studio  on  Eighth  Street  showed  lights 
in  its  windows  until  long  after  mid- 
night. There  was  much  to  talk  of. 
Miles  had  seen  some  things  worth  the 
telling,  and  Hunter  had  the  quiet  hap- 
penings of  Maple  Green  to  relate. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  now!" 
asked  the  artist,  when  the  talk  lagged. 

"I'm  off  to  Colorado  in  a  day  or 
two, ' '  was  the  answer.  ' '  I  'm  going  to 
stop  with  a  chap  in  Denver  for  a  week 
or  two.  Then  it's  Peterson's  Ranch 
and  hard  work  for  awhile.     The  pub- 

184 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


lishers,  like  the  chap  in  Dickens,  are 
crying  for  more.  Well,  I've  got  more, 
heaps  more ;  good  stuff,  too.  And  I'm 
ready  to  go  back  to  work,  too.  Lord, 
man,  but  there's  nothing  finer  in  life 
than  having  work  to  do  and  wanting 
to  do  it!  Eh?  Isn't  that  so?  How's 
Bistre?" 

"Fat  and  lazy.  I  wrote  you  that 
he  went  into  mourning  for  a  week  or 
so  after  you  left,  didn  't  I  ?  Why,  he 
wouldn't  eat  more  than  twice  enough 
for  him !  I  never  saw  him  so  grumpy ! 
And  he  used  to  go  sniffing  around  the 
room,  and  then  walk  to  the  door  and 
out  into  the  road,  and  look  up  and 
down,  for  all  the  world  as  though  he 
were  searching  for  you ! ' ' 

"I  dare  say  he  was,  dear  old  dog! 
Bring  him  with  you  when  you  come 
West,  will  you?  He'll  have  the  time 
of  his  innocent  young  life  out  there. 

/-^-       1S5 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

And  you'll  be  along  in  October,  you 
say?  That's  good.  I'll  meet  you  at 
Galveston,  if  you're  coining  by 
steamer,  so  you  won't  get  lost.  And 
I'll  give  you  a  good  time,  old  chap. 
By  the  way,  have  you — have  you  heard 
anything  of  Miss  Lynde  lately?" 

"Not  a  thing.  I  suppose  she's  in 
town  here.  You — you've  never  seen 
her?" 

"No,  I've  never  seen  her,"  an- 
swered Miles,  gravely. 

"Hum;  I  thought  maybe  you'd 
change  your  mind,  Miles. ' ' 

"No.  .  .  .  Well,  shall  we  turn  in?" 


-v 


XII 


Miles  returned  from  the  West  three 
days  before  Christmas,  alighting  at 
the  Grand  Central  Station  at  the  be- 
ginning of  a  dull,  muggy  afternoon. 
He  had  himself  conveyed,  bag  and 
baggage,  to  Hunter  B rough's  apart- 
ment. The  artist,  he  was  informed, 
was  out  of  town  for  the  day,  but  would 
be  back  in  time  for  dinner,  and  had 
left  word  that  Mr.  Fallon  was  to  take 
possession  of  his  usual  room  and  make 
himself  at  home.  This  Miles  pro- 
ceeded to  do.  After  a  bath,  to  eradi- 
cate the  grime  of  a  four  days '  railway 
journey,  he  unpacked  his  trunk, 
dressed,  and  then  settled  down  with 

187 


in  front  of  a  smouldering  sof 


his  pi 

coal  fire  in  the  studio.  By  the  tim 
lps  pipe  had  burned  out  a  little  snow- 
storm had  set  in,  and  Miles,  fresh 
from  unclouded  skies  and  eternal  sun- 
shine, donned  his  rain-coat  and  went 
out.  It  was  a  trifling  snow  that  melted 
as  soon  as  it  reached  the  dirty  pave- 
ments, but  it  was  something'  of  a  nov- 
elty and  therefore  enjoyable.  Miles 
turned  at  the  Avenue  and  loitered  up 
town. 

The  city  was  in  holiday  garb.  The 
shop  windows  looked  their  finest,  gar- 
lands and  wreaths  of  holly  and  laurel 
adorned  the  buildings,  and  along  the 
urbs  itinerant  venders  of  crawling 
aW  hopping  tin  toys  did  a  thriving 
business.  Even  the  faces  of  the  hurry- 
ing shoppers  betokened  something  of 
the  Christmas  spirit.  Miles  dodged 
between  yellow  cars  and  mud-splashed 

1SS 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS    T 

liansoms  and,  reaching  the  fartlie^gt 
of  Madison  Square,  went  on  up  the 
Avenue.     At    the   crossings    the    arc 
lights  were  springing  into  life,  purple 
in  the  twilight,  spluttering  and  pro- 
testing.     One    by    one    the    windows 
along  the  way  became  radiant.     At  a 
jeweller's  Miles  stopped  to  purchase 
a  scarf-pin  for  Hunter.     Coming  out 
again,  he  paused  to  button  his  coat 
against  the  wet  flakes,  and  his  gaze, 
wandering  to  the  next  window,  fixed 
itself  upon   an   object   that   sent   his  ; 
heart  jumping  about  inside  of  him  a 
absurdly  as  one  of  the  ridiculous  tin 
toys.      Striding    to    the    window,    h 
pressed  his  nose  against  the  wet  glass. 
The  shop  was  a  picture  dealer's,  and 
the  window,  aglow  with  yellow  liglrby 
held  half  a   dozen  framed  canvases. 
Upon  one  of  them  Miles  gazed  eagerly, 
and    the    darkening   street   vanished, 

1S9 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


and  lie  was  once  more  under  the  apple- 
trees  with  the  Princess.  Before  him 
was  the  glade,  agleam  with  sunlight, 
fresh  with  the  tender  green  of  spring. 
The  tiny  brook,  almost  hidden  by  the 
lush  grass  and  clumps  of  forget-me- 
nots,  wandered  away  toward  the 
road,  and  the  blossom-laden  trees  nar- 
rowed toward  it.  Beyond  was  a  blur 
of  distant  hills,  and  above  was  a 
radiant  blue  sky  with  a  single  fluffy 
cloud  afloat  upon  it.  December  van- 
ished. It  was  April  once  more.  He 
could  hear  the  trickling  music  of  the 
sun-flecked  stream,  the  trilling  of  the 
birds,  and  the  droning  of  the  bees. 
Then  his  eyes  fell  to  a  little  tablet  set 
at  the  bottom  of  the  frame,  and 
through  the  blurred  glass  he  read : 


"  The  April  joy  of  the  blossoming  world, 
And  the  charm  of  April  days." 
190 

y 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

He  didn't  need  the  signature  in  the 
lower  corner  of  the  canvas  to  tell  him 
the  artist's  name;  that  "P.  Lynde" 
was  quite  superfluous.  An  instant 
later  he  was  inside,  facing  a  dignified, 
frock-coated  salesman. 

"I  want  to  ask  the  price  of  that  pic- 
ture in  the  window,  the  one  by  Miss 
Lynde,"  he  announced. 

The  salesman  refreshed  his  memory 
by  a  glance  at  the  object  in  question. 

"Fifty  dollars,  sir,"  he  replied. 
"A  charming  thing;  quite  one  of  the 
best  I  have  seen  by  the  artist ;  a  typi- 
cal example  of  her  finest  work. ' ' 

"Fifty  dollars?"  repeated  Miles. 
"You — er — you  don't  think  she  would 
take  more  ? ' ' 

"MoreV  exclaimed  the  salesman. 
"You  mean  less?" 

"No,  I  mean  more,"  said  Miles, 
firmly. 

191 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


' '  Why,  I — I  suppose  we  are  empow- 
ered to  get  the  highest  price  possible 
for  the  picture,"  replied  the  other, 
viewing  Miles  narrowly.  "Fifty  dol- 
lars is  an  extremely  low  figure  to  place 
on  a  picture  of  that  sort,  and " 

"Exactly!"  said  Miles,  eagerly. 
"My  own  idea!  I  thought  that  possi- 
bly seventy-five — or  eighty ?" 

"Suppose  you  place  your  own  fig- 
ure," suggested  the  salesman.  "Let 
me  bring  the  picture  where  you  can 
see  it.  There!  Now,  I  call  that  a 
remarkable  piece  of  work,  sir.  Ob- 
serve the  lighting,  sir.  Splendid, 
isn't  it?" 

' '  Splendid, ' '  answered  Miles, 
warmly.  "I — er- — I  forgot  to  say  that 
if  I  bought  the  picture  I  should  want 
to  have  it  now. ' ' 

1  i  We  can  deliver  it  this  evening,  sir, 
to  any  address  in  the  city." 

192 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"I  won't  trouble  you;  I'll  just  take 
it  with  rue. ' ' 

"Certainly,  sir;  and  the  price? 
You  said  eighty,  I  think?" 

"One  hundred,  I  believe,  was  it 
not!" 

"Yes,  yes;  my  mistake.  I'll  have  it 
done  up  carefully,  sir.  What  name, 
please?" 

"Er— Mr.  Smith." 

Twenty  minutes  later  Miles  walked 
into  Hunter's  apartment  carrying  a 
three-by-two  picture  swathed  in  brown 
wrapping  paper.  After  the  greetings 
were  over,  and  Bistre  had  chewed 
Miles 's  hand  to  his  heart's  content, 
Hunter  looked  curiously  at  the  object. 

"What  you  got  there?"  he  asked. 
"A  picture?" 

"Yes,  it's  a  Christmas  present  to 
myself.  I'll  show  it  to  you  after 
dinner." 

13  193 


dinner   the    paper   wa 
emoved  and  Miles   set  the^ 
i   chair   for   his   friend's 


"I  don't  want  any  criticisms,"  he 
warned.  "I  bought  that  because  I 
liked  it,  and  I  don't  give  a  continental 
hang  if  the  drawing's  wrong,  or  the 
arrangement  out  of  plumb,  or  the 
colors  garish,  or— or  anything." 

"All  right,  my  lad;  I  won't  criti- 
cise. All  I've  got  to  say  is,  that  it's 
the  best  thing  I  ever  knew  her  to  do ; 
and  if  she  can  do  that  sort  of  thing 
right  along  she'll  make  a  name  for 
herself.    Where 'd  you  pick  it  up?" 

"Blamed  if  I  know;  some  shop 
afyove  Madison  Square,  on  the  Ave- 


nue. 


)  i 


' i  I  suppose  you  know  the  scene  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  I — I  was  there." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Hunter.    ' '  And  that  re- 

194 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

minds  me.     We're  going  out   to,  tin 
Green  to-morrow  to  stay  over  Christ- 
mas ?     Do  you  mind?" 

"Xo,  I  think  not.  But  what's  the 
idea?" 

"Oh,   just   a  notion.     I  thought  it 
would  be  rather  jolly  to  spend  the  day 
out  of  town;    New  York's  so  sicken- 
ingly  ugly  and  dull  on  Christmas.    I 
went  out  there  to-day  and  got  things 
ready.    And  I've  persuaded  the  Rug- 
gieses  and  Horace  Taft  and  his  wife 
to  go  out,  too.     So  we'll  have  quite  a{^k 
cosey  party  at  dinner. ' '      He  turne  " 
to  the  mantel  and  began  to  fill  his  pipe 
from  the  old  earthen  jar.    "The  Ru 
gleses   are   going   to   bring   a   friend     0± 
along,  too." 

"All  right,"  said  Miles,  absentQy 
his  eyes  on  the  picture.  "More  the 
merrier,  I  suppose. ' ' 

"Well,  that's  what  I  thought,"  an- 
195 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


swered  Hunter,  stealing  a  glance  at 
him.  "By  the  way,  Miles,  I  suppose 
you've  got  over  that — that  trouble  of 
yours  by  this  time  ? ' ' 

"Trouble?"  asked  Miles. 

"I  mean — Miss  Lynde." 

'  <  Oh, ' '  said  Miles.  ' '  Well,  I  shan  't 
moon  around  the  premises  like  a  love- 
sick school-boy,  if  that  is  what  you 

mean.    As  for  getting  over  it No, 

I  don't  think  I  have,  Hunter.  I've 
come  to  realize,  however,  that  a  fellow 
can't  have  everything  he  wants  in  this 
world." 

That's  true,"  grunted  the  artist. 

"But  I  haven't  got  through  want- 


added    the    other,    softly. 


i  i 


don't  honestly  think  I  ever  shall." 
There   was   silence   for   a  moment. 

Then,— 

"Have      you      heard      about     her 

father?"  Hunter  asked. 

196 


AN    ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


< '  Her  father  f    No,  what  I ' ' 

"He's  dead;  died  in  October.  I 
heard  of  it  when  I  returned  from  your 
place.  Quite  a  lot  of  us  old-timers 
attended.  Well,  I  guess  he  was  glad 
enough,  poor  chap ;  I  dare  say  he  had 
been  praying  for  it  for  years. ' ' 

"And — Miss  Lynde?"  asked  Miles, 
thoughtfully. 

"She's  still  here;  lives  at  the  same 
jDlace,  Miss  Anamite  told  me ;  working 
harder  than  ever,  I  suppose.  Do  you 
know,  old  chap,  I've  been  wondering 
whether" — he  paused  to  push  the 
tobacco  down  in  the  bowl — "whether 
that  didn't  have  something  to  do  with 
it." 

"What!" 

"Well,  whether  she  might  not  have 
treated  vou  differently  if  she  hadn't 
had  her  father  to  look  after.    It's  just 

an  idea." 

197 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


Miles  considered  the  proposition 
silentlv.    Then, — 

"I  wish  I  could  think  so,"  he  an- 
swered, "but — no,  I  don't  believe  it 
was  that." 

' '  Well,  anyway,  if  vou  see  her  again 
it  might  be  well  to — ah — find  out." 

"Thanks,"  answered  Miles,  non- 
committingly. 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  artist,  pres- 
ently, "I've  got  my  copy  of  the  new 
novel;  much  obliged.  I  haven't  had 
time  to  look  into  it  yet.  What's  it 
about?" 

\"Oh,  the  usual  things,"  answered 
the  other. 

"Must  be  selling  pretty  well,  from 
what  I  hear?" 

"Remarkably  well,  yes.  I  wish  to 
heaven  I  cared ! ' ' 

Miles  was  afflicted  with  terrible 
dreams  that  night,  which  finally  left 

19S 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


him  wide-awake  in  a  tremor  of  fright, 
and  with  a  terrible  feeling  of  oppres- 
sion in  his  chest.  Investigation  soon 
discovered  the  cause  in  the  shape  of 
Bistre,  who  was  curled  up  fast  asleep  s. 
on  Miles 's  breast.  He  was  removed, 
grunting  protestingly,  to  another  loca- 
tion, and  after  that  Miles 's  slumber 
was  undisturbed. 

They  journeyed  out  to  Maple  Green 
the  next  afternoon,  reaching  the  studio 
after  dark.  Lights  gleamed  from  the 
Tafts'  cottage,  and  from  that  sacred 
to  the  maiden  presence  of  the  Misses 
Buggies.  After  supper  Hunter  pro- 
posed a  call  on  the  latter.  Miles 
begged  to  be  excused,  and,  after  a 
moment  of  perplexity,  finding  his 
pleadings  in  vain,  Hunter  went  out 
alone.  Miles  spent  the  evening  in 
front  of  a  big  log  fire  with  his  pipe 
and  a  book.     But  the  book  was  more 

199 


l! 


y 


frequently  on  his  knees  than  in  h 
hands.  Hunter  came  back  at  nine  an 
the  two  went  early  to  bed,  the  artist  to 
fall  instantly  into  loud  slumber,  Miles 
to  lie  long  with  his  wide-open  eyes 
fixed  on  the  clear  winter  sky,  in  which 
a  big  white  moon  sailed  gloriously. 

After  breakfast  was  over  in  the 
morning,  the  two  set  about  decorating 
the  house.  Piles  of  evergreen  had 
been  gathered  by  Hunter's  orders,  and 
now  they  were  dragged  inside  and 
heaped  lavishly  wherever  space  al- 
lowed. In  the  midst  of  the  work 
Hunter  leaped  suddenly  from  the 
chair  upon  which  he  had  stood  pre- 
cariously winding  evergreen  above  a 
picture,  and  hurried  to  the  front  win- 
dow. Then  he  carelessly  went  to  the 
door,  opened  it,  and  looked  out. 

"By  Jupiter,  Miles,  but  this  is  a 
great  morning ! ' '  he  exclaimed. 

200 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

"Fine,''    answered    Miles,    ta 
sprays  above  the  long  window. 

"Yes,  but  yon  don't  realize  how 
fine  it  is,"  said  the  other,  impatiently. 
"Come  here  and  have  a  taste  of  this 


air 


j  j 


"I'm  not  hungry,"  was  the  reply. 
Nevertheless,  he  stepped  down  and 
crossed  to  the  door. 

"Look  at  the  sunlight  on  those 
fields!"  said  Hunter,  enthusiastically. 
"And  look  at  that  sky!" 

"All      right,"      answered      Miles.  \ 
' '  Very  nice  sunlight,  very  satisfactory 
sky.    It  seems  to  be  blue  to-day ;  quite 
a  surprise,  isn't  it  ?    I  don't  blame  yor 
for  being  startled,  old  chap ;  blue  skies 
aren't  so  common  around  this  part  ^ 
the  world  that " 

"Look  up  the  road  there,  too,"  in- 
terrupted the  other.  "See  the  way 
the  light  falls  between  those  cedars.". 

201 


.  Vf/; 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

"Hum,  yes,  nice  effect;  but  don't 
you  think  we'd  better  get  on 
with— 


?> 


Miles  stopped  short.  There  was 
K"^something  else  besides  light  between 
flie  cedars.  A  girl  in  a  black  dress  was 
moving  slowly  away  up  the  road.  The 
blood  rushed  into  Miles 's  face,  re- 
ceded, and  left  it  white  as  the  little 
snow-bank  beside  the  stoop.  He 
turned  with  startled  eyes  on  Hunter. 

"Miss  Lynde!"  he  whispered. 

"It  does  look  like  her,"  answered 
the  other,  calmly. 

"But — what's  she  doing  here?" 

"Visiting  the  Euggleses.     Didn't  I 
tell  you  they  had  a  guest  f ' ' 

"This  is  your  doing,  Hunter!" 

"What  of  it,  you  idiot?     Get  your 
hat!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Miles, 
breathlessly. 

202 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


"I  mean  you're  wasting  a  lot  of  val- 
uable time  stopping  here  to  ask  ques- 
tions.   Don't  be  a  fool,  Miles  Fallon  !" 

Miles  looked  from  the  artist  to  the 
black  speck  up  the  road.  Then  he 
looked  back  again.  Then  he  dashed 
into  the  house.    Then  he  dashed  out. 

So  did  Bistre. 


XIII 


The  earth  rang  underfoot  like 
metal,  but  overhead  was  an  April  sky, 
a  sky  as  deep  a  blue  as  ever  arched 
over  Venice.  Not  a  cloud  flecked  it. 
The  sunlight  bathed  the  brown  fields 
and  russet  meadows  with  plate  of  gold 
and  sprinkled  the  furrows  with  dia- 
^monds  where  the  frost-crystals  lay. 
The  air  was  at  once  mellow  and  pun- 
gent, like  old  wine  newly  spiced.  Here 
and  there,  along  the  shadowed  lees  of 
banks  or  'neath  the  tangles  of  way- 
side bushes,  lay  little  drifts  of  snow, 
winter's  seals  of  possession.  The 
maples  across  the  ravine  were  stark 
and  silent,  but  along  the  borders  of 
the  fields  sentinel  cedars  stood  erect 
and  watchful  in  green  uniforms.  On 
southern  slopes  the  grass  still  held  its 
summer  hue,  and  against  the  warm 
gray  bole  of  a  withered  beech  a  tiny 
woodpecker  beat  a  cheerful  tattoo.    It 

204 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


was  as  though  Nature  had  found  a  day 
mislaid  from  Indian  summer  and  had 
frugally  tucked  it  into  December. 

Miles  climbed  the  breach  in  the 
stone  wall  and  went  softly  through  the 
orchard.  The  gnarled,  low-spreading 
trees  were  deep  in  their  winter  slum- 
ber. Beneath  them  the  turf  was  car- 
peted thickly  with  leaves  limp  and 
brown.  There  were  no  clustered  blos- 
soms to  obstruct  his  view,  and,  once 
over  the  wall,  Miles  could  see  the  sun- 
lit glade  and  the  little  brook,  its  course 
marked  by  a  ribbon  of  crystal  blue. 
Beside  the  brook,  looking  toward  the 
road,  as  though  striving  to  reproduce 
in  mind  the  scene  she  had  put  upon 
canvas,  stood  the  Princess.  Her  back 
was  toward  him,  and,  with  fast-beat- 
ing heart,  Miles  went  softly  down  the 
slope.  But  Bistre  was  little  inclined 
for   such   slow  going,   and   so,   while 

•20.") 


x 


tf 


N    ORCHARD    PRINCESSES* 


Miles  was  still  a  dozen  paces  distan 

he    broke 

/ 


the  spell  of  the  girl' 
thoughts  by  a  frantic,  ecstatic  leap 
against  her  skirt.  She  turned, 
startled,  and,  with  just  a  glance  for 
Bistre,  looked  toward  Miles.  He  saw 
the  color  flood  her  cheeks,  and,  in  spite 
of  his  own  blissful  confusion  of  mind 
and  senses,  noted  the  smile  that  leaped 
into  her  eyes.  She  stood  with  out- 
stretched hand,  blue-eyed,  golden- 
haired,  radiant-cheeked,  while  he  cov- 
ered swiftly  the  space  between  them. 
His  heart  and  eyes  had  hungered  for 
her  during  half  a  year ;  he  was  mazed 
with  the  happiness  that  surged 
through  him ;  his  hand  ached  for  the 
touch  of  hers ;  and  so,  having  reached 
her,  he  clasped  the  gloved  fingers  in 
his  for  just  a  moment,  and, — 

"How    do    you    do?"    he    asked, 

politely. 

206 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

Even  Bistre  saw  the  humor  oJr|jr_  WA 


\  ^ 


"r. 


and   grinned   broadly,    with   hanging 
tongue. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Fallon!"  re- 
sponded Prudence.  Then  they  looked 
at  each  other,  smilingly,  for  a  breath- 
less instant,  and  perhaps  something 
in  the  steady,  eager  gaze  of  his  eyes 
moved  her  to  hurried  words.  "I — I 
had  no  idea  3*011  were  here !"  she  said. 

"And    I    didn't    know    you    were 
here,':    he    answered,    "until    a    few 
moments  ago.    You  are  stopping  with   ^ 
the  Euggleses?" 

"Yes;  and  you,  of  course,  are  witfi 
Mr.  Brough?" 

"Yes."  ^, 

Again    there   was    a    little    silence 
The  color  which  had  faded  from  hef> 
cheeks  crept  back. 

"He  said  nothing  of  it  last  night," 
she  said,  perplexed. 

207 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


"No,  neither  did  he  mention  your 
presence  to  me,''  responded  Miles, 
meaningly.  "It — it  has  every  look  of 
a  conspiracy,  don't  you  think?" 

Her  eyes  dropped  and  a  tiny  smile 
flickered  about  her  lips. 

"Miss  Anamite  has  been  acting  very 
lysteriously,"  she  answered.  "I 
think  now  I  understand. ' ' 

"Oh,  there's  no  doubt  but  what 
we  Ve  been  made  the  victims  of  a  deep- 
laid  conspiracy,"  he  declared,  cheer- 
fully, watching  her  face.  "And  I  am 
a  very  happy  victim. ' ' 

"It's  nice  of  you  to  take  it  so  well," 
she  murmured.  She  turned  and  gazed 
about  her.  "It  doesn't  look  much  as 
it  did  when  we  saw  it  last,  does  it?" 
she  asked,  lightly. 

"No,  very  little  as  it  did  when  I  saw 
it  last, ' '  he  answered,  meaningly.  ' '  I 
spent  a  morning  here  waiting  for  you ; 

20S 

y 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


and  you  didn't  come.  It  was  a  very 
empty  place  that  day." 

''But  you  got  on  better  with  your 
picture,  perhaps,"  she  laughed,  "with- 
out disturbance." 

"No,  I  decided  not  to  paint  that  pic- 
ture. And  it  is  just  as  well,  for  I've 
found  one  since  then  that  serves  much 
better." 

"Yes?"  she  said,  questioningiy. 
But  he  did  not  enlighten  her.  Instead, 
with  a  glance  at  her  sombre  gown  and 
a  lowering  of  his  voice,  he  said- 

" You've  had  a  great  misfortune 
since  then,  Hunter  tells  me.  I  am  very 
sorry,  Miss  Lynde. " 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered,  softly. 
"But  my  father's  death  was  not  so 
painful  to  me  as  it  would  have  been 
had  he  wanted  to  live.  Mr.  Brough 
told  you  about  him  ?  It  was  a  welcome 
relief  to  him,  and  for  his  sake  I  try  to 

209 


14 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


be  glad.  But  I  have  missed  him  ter- 
ribly; we  were  together  almost  every 
moment. ' ' 

"I  can  understand  that,"  said 
Miles,  gravely.  "I  fancy  you  have 
been  very  lonely."  He  paused.  "I 
wish  I  might  have  seen  him  once, ' '  he 
said,  regretfully. 

"He  saw  very  few  persons,"  she 
nswered.  "He  was  very  patient 
through  it  all,  but — I  think  he  tried 
always  to  forget." 

She  began  to  move  away  toward 
the  road. 

"You  are  not  going  so  soon?"  he 
asked.  "Won't  you  stay  a  little 
longer?  It  is  very  early,  look  at  the 
shadows. ' ' 

"If  vou  wish,"  she  answered.  "1 
have  nothing  to  do  all  day  long ;  they 
won't  let  me  paint." 

"They're  quite  right,"  he  said,  de- 

210 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


1 1 


u 


cidedly.  "You've  been  working  too 
hard,  I'm  sure;  you  don't  look  as  well 
as  you  did  in  the  spring. ' ' 

"Don't  I?"  she  asked,  with  a  smile. 
"But  I  feel  quite  well." 

"I  think  it's  remorse,"  he  said,  with 
a  shake  of  his  head. 

"Remorse?"  she  questioned. 
;  Yes  ;  I — I  got  your  note. ' ' 
My  note  ?     Yes,  I  supposed  you 
had,"  she  said,  looking  away. 

"And  I  did  as  you  asked  me,"  he 
went  on,  softly.  ' '  I  never  sought  you, 
although  it  was  the  hardest  task  I 
ever  set  myself.  I  almost  kicked  over 
the  traces  once,  Prudence." 

She  cast  a  little  startled  glance  at 
him  aud  swayed  as  though  about  to 
take  flight.  He  put  his  hand  gently  on 
her  arm  and  she  stood  still,  her  eyes 
on  the  ground. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?"  he  asked. 
211 


\ 


) ' '  Why  /aid  vou  write  that  note  ? 
/you  think  I  would  follow  you?" 

' '  Please ! ' '  she  whispered. 

"Did  you,  Prudence?  For  if  you 
did,  you  thought  rightly.  I  would 
have  found  you  sooner  or  later,  you 
know.  Tell  me,  please;  why  did  you 
write  it?" 

For  a  long  moment  she  made  no 
answer.  Then,  slowly,  she  raised  her 
face  until  her  eyes  were  on  his. 

"I  wrote  it  because,"  she  began, 
bravely,     "because —  Then     the 

lashes  fell  over  the  blue  eyes.  "But 
what  can  it  matter,"  she  faltered, 
"why  I  wrote  it?" 

\  "I  would  like  to  know,"  he  an- 
sVered,  gravely.  "You  see,  it  wasn't 
as  though  I  was  just  the  acquaint- 
ance you  called  me,  'one  of  the  few 
acquaintances,'  Prudence.  You  must 
have  known  that !    It  mattered  to  me, 

212 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

a  whole  lot,  clear,  and  it  still  mat^ 
You  can't  make  a  man  suffer  as  you 
made  me   suffer  without   its  matter- 
ing.   Whv  did  you  write  it?" 

"Oh,  please!'1  she  said,  quickly, 
with  a  swift,  beseeching  glance.  "I 
didn't  mean  you  to  suffer!  I  didn't 
think  you — cared — so  much  ! ' ' 

"Cared!  Why,  I  loved  you,  dear! 
Do  you  know  what  that  means  I  That 
I  thought  of  you  day  in  and  day  out, 
and  longed  for  just  a  glimpse  of  you 
as  a '  thirsty  man  longs  for  water ! 
That  I'd  have  given  anything  in  the 
world  for  just  the  chance  to  see  you 
and  touch  you  and  hear  you  speak,  for 
just  the  chance  that  is  mine  this 
moment!    Cared!    Is  that  caring?' 

' '  Oh,  yes,  yes  ! ' '  she  cried.    ' ' ' 
caring!      Don't    you    think    I   know! 
Don't  you  think  I— I-     -!" 

She      stopped,      breathlessly,     her 
213 


J  UlZ 


AN    ORCHARD    PRINCESS 

cheeks  warm  with  blushes,  her  red  lips 
atremble,  her  eyes  falling  before  his. 

' '  Prudence ! "  he  whispered, 
hoarsely.  "Prudence!  Think  what 
you  're  saying,  dear !  Do  you  mean 
it  ?    Do  you,  sweetheart  ? ' ' 

His  arms  closed  about  her  until  the 
bent  head  was  against  his  shoulder. 
Bistre,  observing  from  a  yard  away, 
yawned  cynically.  The  slim  shoul- 
ders quivered  under  the  black  jacket, 
and  when,  at  last,  the  blue  eyes  found 
courage  to  raise  themselves  to  his, 
little  tears  trembled  within  them. 
Bending  slowly,  he  kissed  them,  and 
they  closed  under  his  lips.  Then, 
while  they  were  still  closed  and  might 
not  see,  he  bent  yet  lower. 

The  eyes  opened  and  she  struggled 
gently  until  she  was  very  far  away 
from  him — oh,  quite  twelve  inches ! 
Then  — 

214 


"I>0    YOU    KNOW    WHAT    YOl'VK    DONE?"    SHE    ASKED 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 

"Do  you  know  what  you've  done?" 
she  asked,  with  a  little  tremulous 
laugh. 

' '  Done  ?  I  've  kissed  the  Princess ! ' ' 
he  answered,  triumphantly.  "I've 
kissed  the  woman  I  love  better  than  all 
the  world  and  all  that  the  world  has 
in  it!" 

She  crept  back  to  him  until  his  arms 
were  again  close  about  her. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  she  sighed,  hap- 
pily.   ' '  Say  it  again — please ! ' ' 

"That  I  love  you?" 

The  head  against  his  shoulder 
nodded  shyly. 

"I  shan't,"  he  answered,  sternly, 
"until  you  have  said  it." 

"Then  listen!"  she  whispered.  He 
listened,  but  for  a  moment  the  only 
sound  he  heard  was  the  beating  of 
his  heart  and  the  hollow  gurgling 
of    the    little   brook    under    its    skim 

215 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


of  ice.    Then,  like  a  breath,  it  reached 
him, — 

' '  I  love  you — Miles  ! ' ' 

"Say  it  again!"  he  cried,  eagerly. 
She  shook  her  head,  laughing  softly. 

"It's  your  turn,"  she  whispered. 
I  fear  I  shall  tire  you,"  he  an- 
swered, in  simulated  concern. 

"No,    you    won't,"    she    answered, 
ou  see Oh,  I've  wanted  to  be 


loved  so ! "  she  cried,  with  a  little  catch 
in  her  voice.  "I've  been  so — so 
lonely ! ' ' 

Presently,  but  not  until  Bistre  had 

.yawned  again  twice,  she  was  standing 

away    from    him,    blushing,    radiant, 

happy,  her  hands  busy  with  her  golden 

hair. 

' '  And  now  I  '11  tell  you  why  I  wrote 
it,"  she  said. 

' '  Oh,  I  don 't  care  now, ' '  he  laughed, 
joyfully. 

216 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


"But — but  I  want  to!  I  wrote  it 
because  I  was  afraid!" 

"Afraid?  Afraid  of  what?  Of 
me!" 

"No,  that  is,  not  exactly.  I  was 
afraid  you  would  make  me  love  you, 
and — and  I  couldn't  have — then." 
She  paused,  thoughtfully.  "But  I 
did!"  she  cried,  exultingly. 

' '  I  don 't  understand ! ' ' 

"Well,  if  you  had — had  said  what 
you  have  said  now,  I  might  have — 
have- " 

"I  wish  to  heaven  I  had!"  he 
groaned. 

"But  I  couldn't  have  then,  don't 
vou  see?"  she  went  on,  earnestly.  "I 
couldn't  have  left  father.  There  was 
no  one  else  to  look  after  him;  lie 
needed  me  every  minute  of  his  life. 
And  I  was  afraid — afraid !" 

"But  you  might  have  told  me,  Pru- 
217 

r 


f  ' , 


AN   ORCHARD    PRINCESS 


dence!  I  wouldn't  have  asked  you  to 
leave  him,  dear.  I  could  have  helped 
you. ' ' 

"I  was  afraid,"  she  repeated, 
doubtfully.  "I  was  afraid — of  my- 
self!" 

"Do  you  know,  dear,"  he  asked,  a 
little  later,  "that  this  is  Christmas 
Day?" 

' '  I  had  quite  forgotten  it ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, in  surprise. 

"And  so  had  I,"  he  answered. 
' '  But  now,  with  my  Christinas  present 
in  my  arms,  I  can't  very  well  help  re- 
membering. How  do  you  like  being  a 
Christinas  present  ? ' ' 

"I — I  like  it,"  she  murmured. 
"Only — only  I  don't  think  I  am  very 
much  of  a  one. ' ' 

"The  best  man  ever  had,  my  Prin- 
cess!" he  answered,  softly. 

J '  Princess  ? ' '  she  asked.  ' '  Was  that 
y  218 


AN   ORCHARD   PRINCESS 


the  name  you  said  you  had  for  me — 
once?"  she  asked,  shyly. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  -That  was 
the  name  I  gave  you  the  very  first 
moment  I  saw  you  here  among  the 
apple  blossoms  with  the  sunlight  on 
your  hair." 

"Really?"  she  asked,  looking  won- 
deringly  into  his  face.  Then,  "I  don't 
think  I  could  have  looked  much  like  a 
princess,"  she  said,  regretfully,  "with 
an  old  white  dress  on." 

"Ah,  but  you  did,"  he  answered, 
stoutlv.  "The  dearest,  fairest,  most 
beautiful  princess  in  all  the  world; 
my  Orchard  Princess!" 

Stooping,  he  kissed  her  smiling 
mouth.  Then,  side  by  side,  with  the 
little  brook  singing  a  happy  paean  to 
their  ears,  they  passed  down  the  sunlit 
glade. 

So  did  Bistre. 

219 


